The True Soldier: Jack Lark 6

by Paul Fraser Collard

  ‘Do you accept my offer?’ Kearney had seen something change in Jack’s expression, and now he pounced.

  Jack paused, a final moment’s hesitation, before he answered in a firm voice, ‘I do.’

  He had just joined the Union army.

  Faneuil Hall, Boston, Wednesday 17 April 1861

  The streets were busy, even early in the morning. Jack and Kearney had left the town house on Beacon Hill for the short journey down to the heart of the old city. The walk had made it clear to Jack that Boston was a commercial centre. Its inhabitants were workers and they got about their business long before the sun began another battle to fight through the gloomy, overcast skies.

  ‘Here we are.’ Kearney called for Jack’s attention. They had arrived in front of the grand building opposite the covered market that Jack had passed the previous day, before he had managed to get lost.

  ‘May we pause here a moment?’

  ‘Of course.’ The older man agreed to the request with a half-smile.

  Jack suspected Kearney was perfectly capable of spotting his unease. He made a play of looking around him, as if getting his bearings. In truth, he was beginning to acquire some sense of where he was, but it was not geography that was making him pause.

  It was not the first time he had approached a moment like this. He remembered arriving to take command of a company of British redcoats in the hellish conditions of the British army camp at Varna as his new regiment, the King’s Royal Fusiliers, prepared to embark on the final leg of their journey to the Crimean peninsula; and again at a remote British cantonment far up in the mofussil at Bhundapur. He was no stranger to this moment of uncertainty, but still it troubled him. He was about to step over the threshold of a new life. No matter his experience, the moment still unsettled him.

  At least Kearney had accompanied him, so that he was not totally alone. A servant had been dispatched ahead of them to warn Jack’s new commander that he was on his way. As they walked, Kearney had told Jack that just a single company of the 1st Boston Volunteer Militia were barracked on the upper floor of Faneuil Hall, the building they now stood outside. The rest were spread around the area in meeting halls, houses and any other space large enough to accommodate them.

  Jack also now knew that the 1st Boston, as they were more commonly known, was organised into ten companies, named from A to K, omitting the letter J. Jack would be joining Kearney’s son, and future son-in-law, in A Company, one of the regiment’s two elite flank companies.

  ‘Shall we go in?’ Kearney was leaning on his stick and was clearly keen to get inside. The air was chill, and although it was not raining, it was a damp and murky morning.

  Jack nodded and let the older man lead him through a set of narrow double doors that opened onto a wide staircase up to the first floor. The moment they opened, he heard the sounds of the men he had agreed to serve alongside, the hall full of the noise of raised voices and boots thumping on wooden floors. He sensed something of a holiday atmosphere, with the men upstairs catcalling and cheering. The bright red, white and blue bunting tied to the banisters and the large Stars and Stripes flag hanging over the doorway leading to the main hall enhanced the feeling that some form of celebration was in progress.

  With Kearney leading, they walked into the hall. It was a splendid place, with a wide gallery running around both sides and the rear of the room. Kearney had called it the Cradle of Liberty, and had told Jack something of the role it had played in the country’s formation. Now the large public auditorium on its upper floor had been pressed into service as a temporary barracks, the grand space filled with temporary cots and the materiel of war, rather than the voices and opinions of citizens forging a new country.

  Their arrival was noticed immediately.

  ‘Good morning, sir.’ A tall, broad-shouldered man walked towards them, his handsome face fixed in a warm smile of greeting. It was plain he had been waiting for them to arrive. ‘I was told to expect you.’

  ‘Good morning to you, Ethan.’ Kearney extended a hand that was instantly shaken warmly. ‘If you got my note, then you must know who this is.’ He gestured towards Jack.

  ‘I do indeed, sir.’ The man turned his attention to Jack. ‘I take it you must be Mr Lark.’

  Jack did his best to force at least half a smile onto his face. ‘I am.’

  ‘Ethan Rowell, and I am pleased to meet you.’

  ‘Jack Lark. Likewise.’ Jack shook the hand that was offered whilst doing his best not to bristle with jealousy as he met the man betrothed to the beautiful and intelligent Elizabeth Kearney. Ethan Rowell was a good-looking man. He wore his dark hair long enough that it could be tucked neatly behind his ears, and sported a thin moustache paired with a goatee that did nothing to hide the cleft in his chin and left his strong jawline free of hair. He was clad in an immaculate dark-blue uniform that was perfectly tailored to show off his muscular physique. If first impressions were anything to go by, then Elizabeth Kearney was fortunate to have such a fine-looking fiancé.

  ‘Ethan commands A Company.’ Kearney took over the conversation smoothly.

  ‘For my sins.’ Rowell had an easy charm. ‘Not that they take a great deal of leading. They are a fine bunch of fellows. Johnny Reb will turn tail and skedaddle as soon as look at them.’

  ‘I shouldn’t wonder if you are right, Ethan. The rebels have no trained militia. They will not stand against the likes of you and your men.’ Kearney clearly liked his daughter’s intended, and reached out to clap his hand on the man’s shoulder.

  ‘Ah, there is Robert.’ Kearney’s face lit up as he spotted his son standing with another man wearing an officer’s uniform. ‘Robert! A moment, if you please.’

  Jack watched Kearney’s son approach. It was hard not to stare as he saw his face for the first time. His features were at once both familiar and different, the similarity to his older brother enough to send a jolt running through Jack’s body.

  ‘Jack, may I present my son, Robert.’ Kearney, the proud father, ushered the young man forward.

  ‘Good morning.’ Jack went through the polite routine. He could see that Robert was leaner than his brother, his slight physique lacking the robust, muscular build of a soldier. He wore a beard, but it was patchy and thin, so that glimpses of pale flesh peeked through on his cheeks.

  ‘Good morning.’ The greeting was returned with little enthusiasm.

  Jack smelled the taint of whisky on Robert’s breath. The younger man’s eyes were bloodshot, with puffy grey bags underneath, and his uniform looked like he had slept in it. He could only be nineteen, perhaps twenty. It made Jack feel every one of his thirty-one years. He had never felt stronger, but he spotted something in Robert’s gaze that made him feel very old indeed.

  ‘Kearney, you rogue, to what do we owe the pleasure this fine morning?’

  Jack’s inspection of Robert Kearney was brought to an abrupt end as someone else spotted their arrival. A short, rotund individual with a bald head, a pointed ginger beard and an impressive pot belly was striding towards the group. He was dressed in the same blue officer’s uniform as Ethan and Robert, but with a silver eagle on his light-blue shoulder straps. Jack made a mental note to learn the markers of rank quickly so that in future he would know just who he was speaking to.

  ‘Scanlon, I had no idea you would be here.’ Kearney greeted the new arrival with gusto. Jack noticed the way he straightened his spine and stopped leaning quite so heavily on his stick as the commander of the 1st Boston came towards them.

  ‘I’m just checking up on these hoopleheads. I need to make sure they’re not sitting around on their backsides.’ Scanlon chuckled at his own remark.

  Jack was fascinated by Kearney’s reaction to Scanlon’s appearance. It was clear from his body language that he was trying not to look like an old man in front of the colonel. There was something intr
iguing in the byplay that hinted of a long history between them.

  ‘May I introduce you to Jack Lark, the man I told you about in my note.’ Kearney gestured towards Jack.

  ‘So you’re the Englishman who wants to join us?’

  It was Jack’s turn to straighten his spine. He noticed Scanlon’s eyes slide over the scar on his cheek before they settled on his own gaze. ‘Mr Kearney gave me the impression you would welcome my experience.’

  ‘What I would welcome, son, is some new rifles. What I would welcome is the chance to get out of this city and strike at the rebel army before they grow too bold.’ Scanlon thrust his bearded chin out as he came to stand directly in front of Jack. ‘What I would welcome is for the politicians to stop spouting hot air and let us soldiers get on with this goddam war.’

  Jack could not help smiling at Scanlon’s forthright language. The colonel stood at least six inches shorter than Jack himself, but his lack of height clearly did not matter to him. His red-veined cheeks were beginning to flush scarlet, a colour that did not sit well against the copper-coloured beard that jutted out from his chin. Still, Jack welcomed the change in tone. Kearney spoke like a politician. Scanlon spoke like a soldier.

  ‘Jack is an experienced redcoat, Colonel.’ Kearney could not help a hint of condescension creeping into his tone. ‘As I explained in my note, I think you would do well to recruit him.’

  ‘I have enough men. Why do I want an Englishman telling me what to do?’ Scanlon watched Jack for a reaction.

  ‘His experience would surely be useful to the men.’ Kearney spoke before Jack could reply.

  Scanlon grunted at the comment. His gaze never shifted from Jack’s face. ‘You’re right, Kearney, I do need men who know what they’re about. What experience do you have, son?’

  ‘Enough.’ Jack was taking a liking to Scanlon.

  ‘Enough!’ Scanlon shook his head at the evasive reply. ‘You expect me to take you on the back of that?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then you’re a fool.’ Scanlon made no move to turn away.

  ‘I fought,’ Jack spoke evenly, ‘in the Crimea. I fought in India and then in Persia. I was at the siege of Delhi and I was with the French Foreign Legion in Italy.’ He met Scanlon’s beady eyes calmly. ‘I’ve killed so many men that I’ve lost count. How many of your troops can say that?’

  Scanlon half closed one eye as he considered Jack’s words. ‘You think you’re better than us, son?’

  Jack looked around the room. Most of the faces were turned his way and, judging by the expressions on many of them, few were impressed to hear an Englishman declaring his credentials. He spotted a familiar trio among the crowd. The three Irishmen who had accosted him the previous day were glaring at him. One sported a fabulous black eye, while the tallest of their number, who he remembered was called O’Dowd, had fat lips tinted black. Jack hoped the wounds hurt. He turned his attention back to Scanlon.

  ‘Better?’ He shook his head. ‘No, I don’t think I’m better than you or your men, but I do know how to fight. I know how to lead men in battle.’

  ‘You think you should be leading my men? You want to be officering here?’

  ‘I could do so.’ Jack kept his tone even. ‘If there’s a vacancy.’

  ‘We don’t need officers.’ Scanlon’s steady stare bored into Jack’s skull. ‘Men don’t waltz in here and just take command. We’re not in merry old England now. This is the New World. We vote for our officers here, choose them for ourselves. In our army, you don’t get the fancy braid just because you’re some rich man’s son.’

  Jack could not help but smile at Scanlon’s choice of words. He had stolen his first identity partly to prove that a man born in the grimmest rookeries of east London could lead men just as well as someone born with enough money to buy their rank. Yet something didn’t ring true, and he looked at Kearney and then at his son. ‘Your men selected him?’ He nodded towards Robert.

  ‘Isn’t that what I just said?’

  ‘So the fact that he’s a rich man’s son had nothing to do with it?’

  Scanlon’s eyes narrowed, but a flicker of a half-smile crept onto his face. ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘I’m just asking a question, Colonel. I’m new to this part of the world. I’m trying to find out how things work.’

  ‘They work just fine. It may surprise you, but we know what we are about. We have veterans in our ranks. Men like me who fought the Mexicans, or who served with the regulars when they were fighting the Navajo.’ Scanlon held Jack’s gaze. ‘We’re not perfect, not by a long shot, and we have our problems just the same as any other army.’ He glanced at Robert Kearney for a moment before turning his attention back towards Jack. ‘I have enough men, Mr Lark. I thank you for your offer to join us, but I don’t have a place for you.’

  He turned to walk away. This time Jack stayed mum and did not try to stop him. He had no intention of begging for a place. As much as he wanted to be a soldier again, he would not serve a man who did not want him.

  But Kearney was not to be denied. He raised his stick so that it was horizontal and blocked Scanlon’s path. ‘Do not be hasty, Colonel. I think Jack would be useful to you.’

  Scanlon’s whole body stiffened. But he did not push past, and stood stock-still as Kearney leaned forward and spoke quietly into his ear. The exchange did not take long. Then Scanlon turned on his heel and faced Jack once more, his cheeks redder than before, although whether coloured by embarrassment or anger, Jack could not tell.

  ‘Forgive me, son, Mr Kearney here reminds me of a vacancy that I must admit I had forgotten.’ Scanlon sounded tired, and the apology was delivered with little enthusiasm. ‘Captain Rowell’s company needs a sergeant on account of a man being demoted due to his overconsumption of alcohol.’ He paused and glanced at the ceiling for a moment before looking back down and continuing. ‘The position is yours if you will accept it.’

  Jack could see Scanlon suppressing the urge to say something more. The man was positively vibrating with barely contained emotion. Jack could only wonder at the power of the few words Kearney had whispered in his ear.

  Kearney caught Jack’s eye and nodded his head. It was clear what Jack was expected to do.

  ‘Thank you, Colonel, I accept. You won’t regret this, I promise.’

  Scanlon’s expression did not alter as his offer was accepted. ‘I’d better not, son. Captain Rowell will issue the paperwork.’ He delivered the instruction, then turned so that he could address the wider room.

  ‘Listen up.’ The place had been quiet, but now it fell utterly silent as every man listened to his colonel. ‘This fine fellow is your new sergeant. I trust you will give him a proper welcome and obey him in every regard.’

  Introduction complete, Scanlon nodded once to Kearney, then bustled away. The silence was broken before he had taken more than two paces, the men reacting to the new arrival with murmured conversation.

  ‘Robert, why don’t you introduce Sergeant Lark to some of the men.’ If Rowell felt any reservations at welcoming Jack into his company, he did not let them show.

  Kearney’s farewell had been warm, but Jack had a feeling that was more because he had been able to force his will over Colonel Scanlon, rather than due to any affection for the man who had brought him his son’s letters.

  ‘Do I have to, Ethan? You know I only just got in.’ Robert wiped a hand across his face. ‘O’Connell can do it.’

  Rowell was clearly used to his subaltern calling him by his first name. ‘Don’t you think you should do what I say?’ He glanced at Jack, who stood straight-backed and silent as he watched the interplay between the two Union officers.

  ‘Surely I deserve a little rest? We have that farewell party at the Sinclairs’ tonight, or had you forgotten? You cannot expect me to turn up looking like this.’ Rob
ert waved a hand in the general direction of his face.

  ‘Right, damn, yes, I had forgotten.’ Rowell cast his eyes about him. ‘Where’s Francis?’

  ‘Having breakfast with the Sinclairs. Their daughter is mad for him. They’ll be engaged before we leave, I reckon.’

  ‘Poor fellow, that girl has the worst buck teeth I ever saw.’

  ‘Her father owns nearly all the mills in Massachusetts. I reckon you could tell her to keep her mouth shut whilst you count the dollars that would be coming your way.’

  Rowell guffawed at the remark before catching Jack’s eye. Whatever he saw reflected there was enough to stop his laughter. ‘Go on then, Robert, you get yourself some rest and I’ll take him to O’Connell. Just make sure you look presentable for tonight. I cannot bear to see Elizabeth disappointed, and she surely will be if her brother arrives looking like he just got up.’

  He turned to Jack. ‘Come with me, Sergeant Lark.’

  Jack did as he was asked. It felt decidedly odd to be addressed as Sergeant. It was a rank he had never assumed, his career as an impostor seeing him only ever pass himself off as an officer. However odd it felt, he was sure he could get used to it. In reality it was sergeants who ran infantry companies. Good officers knew it and left them to it.

  ‘Morning, Thatcher.’ Rowell nodded a greeting to one of his men as he led Jack across the hall. ‘These are good boys, Sergeant Lark,’ he observed. ‘They are all volunteers, and boy, are they keen to take the fight to Johnny Reb.’

  Jack watched the men as they reacted to their captain. Most smiled and nodded a greeting, a fair indication that Rowell was a popular officer.

  ‘Many of my boys are of Irish descent,’ Rowell continued as they started to climb one of the sets of stairs that led to the gallery. ‘We have one German company in the regiment. They barely speak English, so we kept them together. Other than that, there are a couple of Englishmen, a Scot, a fair few Slavs and even one Swede.’