‘I decided not to go. I cannot bear to see Frannie mooning over the Sinclair girl. It’s like watching a starving man looking at a hog roast he is not allowed to eat.’ Robert laughed at his own joke as he walked to join Jack at a table pushed into one corner of the room. He sat down heavily, then stretched out his legs and placed his feet on a conveniently located chest. ‘Besides, Ethan wants me to look at the new rifle muskets and make sure we got what my father paid for.’
‘Your father paid to equip the company?’
‘No, but he put money in the right places and spoke a few words of encouragement into the right ears. He’s good at that sort of thing.’
Jack heard something in Robert’s tone that made him believe the son did not necessarily approve of the father’s ways. ‘What does your father do?’
Robert chuckled. ‘Only the devil knows. Or at least I’m sure he has a better idea than I damned well do.’ He shook his head. ‘Father is a merchant. That much I know. But quite what he buys and sells is a mystery to me.’
‘Come on, you can do better than that,’ Jack pressed. He wanted to know what manner of man he had agreed to serve.
‘Very well. I told you he buys and sells . . . Well, let’s just say he trades in more than simple cargos. Secrets are his thing. Rumour and hearsay can often cost as much as a whole shipload of cotton if you know the right people. Have you heard of this Pinkerton fellow that Lincoln is so keen on?’
‘No.’
‘Pity. But then few people know the man. Father is a correspondent of his. Men like that are the true power behind the throne here. Not that we have thrones, of course, but you get my meaning.’ Robert chuckled at his own dry humour.
‘So he has influence?’ Jack was not bought by such easy charm.
‘Oh, he has that. Even the Governor listens to him. He’s got himself appointed to so many goddam committees that if you ask anyone in Boston, they’ll tell you he pretty much runs things around these parts. That gives him power.’ Robert smirked. ‘He had enough influence to get you your stripes.’
Jack glanced at the chevrons on his sleeve. ‘You don’t approve?’
Robert laughed off the question. ‘I neither approve nor disapprove, my friend. I couldn’t care less who is in the company.’
‘You should.’
‘Should I?’ Robert raised an eyebrow at Jack’s certainty. ‘I’m not a soldier and I’ve no intention of being one for any longer than I need to be. I’m only doing it at all to keep Father happy. He thinks it’ll harm my future if I’m not seen to join the great cause, if I’m not a hero. But if you ask me, the sooner this is over, the better.’ He paused and his expression changed. ‘I’m not my brother.’ The words were spoken softly, so that Jack only just heard them.
‘Your brother was a good man. He was my friend.’
‘Well, he wasn’t mine.’ The confession was given through gritted teeth, and Robert looked at Jack with eyes that blazed with barely contained passion. ‘He was a hero, my brother. He could do anything and everything. My father and sister doted on him, as did my mother before she passed. Can you imagine what that’s like, to be the younger son, to have to live up to your brother’s standards and spend your whole goddam life in his shadow?’ Jack heard the pain of a lifetime’s worth of angst in Robert’s voice.
‘You’re not in it any longer,’ he said.
‘Oh no, I’m not now.’ Something of the former charming smile returned to Robert’s face. ‘And you know what, I reckon that’s a whole lot worse.’
‘You’re right. Now you cannot hide.’
Robert puffed out his cheeks and exhaled as if absorbing a blow to the gut. ‘You’re not pulling your damn punches.’
‘I don’t have to.’ Jack offered a half-smile. ‘I am no one’s brother, nor am I anyone’s son. I’m just me.’
‘I envy you.’
‘Well, don’t.’
‘Is that why you’re here? Because you’ve no place else to go?’
Jack inclined his head to acknowledge the truth in Robert’s words. ‘Partly. And partly because you buggers need me.’
‘Do we indeed?’ Robert laughed off the seriousness in Jack’s words. ‘Well, don’t let Scanlon hear you say that. He thinks we can win the whole damn war all by ourselves.’
‘You won’t. If Scanlon believes that, he’s a fool.’
Robert made a face of mock surprise. ‘If you’ll allow me to give you a word of advice, keep that opinion to yourself. Scanlon does not take kindly to hearing anything but praise for his precious regiment.’
‘Maybe he needs to hear the truth.’
‘Maybe he does.’ Robert looked at Jack as if he were crazy. ‘But it won’t come from my lips.’
‘Sometimes you have to stand up and be counted.’
‘Not me, Jack, I leave that to fellows like you and my poor departed brother. Show me the shadows and leave me to skulk in them; that’s what works best for me.’
‘You hold a very low opinion of yourself.’ Jack could not help smiling. He was taking a liking to Robert Kearney. Many of the young men he had known would have been proclaiming their bravery and their desire to bring the enemy to heel. Robert clearly didn’t give a hoot. It was a refreshingly honest view, and Jack found he rather enjoyed it.
‘Everyone else does and I see no reason to dissuade them of it. I shall always be a disappointment, especially now poor Thomas is gone. What’s the point in trying to prove everyone wrong? Especially when you can have so much more fun when you stop trying.’
‘With girls? And drink?’
‘Amongst other things.’ Robert guffawed at his own answer.
‘What about when they run out?’
‘Oh, they won’t do that. Father may be disappointed in me, but he’s never anything but generous. So long as I have money, I shall have my comforts.’
‘And that’s all there is?’
Robert got to his feet with a sudden bound of energy. ‘What else would a fellow want? Give me a whisky and a pretty girl and I’ll want for nothing.’
Jack was finding it hard to come up with a good counter. ‘What about duty?’
‘Duty? Goodness me, are you truly that dull, Jack? To hell with duty! We are not on this good earth for long; Thomas proved that pretty damn well. If we don’t enjoy ourselves now, then when will we?’
‘There’s more to life than drinking and whoring.’
‘If there is, I have yet to find it.’ Robert seemed invigorated by the conversation. He moved away from the table and pushed open the uppermost crate in a stack not far away. ‘Although I suppose war could be fun.’ He reached inside the crate and pulled out a rifle.
Jack caught a whiff of the oil that had protected the firearm on its journey from the factory. He did not recognise the weapon in Robert’s hand so he got to his feet and came to have a closer look.
‘War is not fun,’ he spoke as he walked, ‘and if you think that, you’re going to be sorely disappointed.’
Robert pulled the rifle into his shoulder and sighted down the barrel. ‘Are you always so goddam dour?’ He spoke out of the corner of his mouth as he tracked an imaginary target.
‘Yes.’ Jack reached into the crate and pulled out another rifle. ‘What are these?’
‘Springfields. Brand new, too. Only the very best for us, thanks to my father.’
Jack hefted the weapon in his hand. It was heavy, but no more so than the Enfield rifle musket he had used in India, or the French Minié version used by the Foreign Legion.
‘We had some of these before. They came with a tape instead of percussion caps. Maynard tape or some such.’ Robert seemed thoroughly uninterested and tossed the rifle back into the crate. ‘The damn stuff didn’t work, so we sent them back. These are fired with standard caps.’
�
��Where are they made?’
‘Why, here in good old Massachusetts.’ Robert injected false enthusiasm into his voice. ‘And they are the reason we’ll win this war.’
‘How so?’
‘They are proof of all that we have here in the North. We have more people, we have two thirds of the factories, hell, we even have all the goddam money. Those Southrons have nothing. They won’t be equipped like us and they won’t have our numbers.’ Robert laughed. ‘It’s why I let Father sign me up to this nonsense. The South doesn’t stand a cat’s chance in hell.’
For the first time, Jack saw something else in Robert’s behaviour. For all his attempts to play the rake, he was an articulate young man who explained the North’s advantages over the South clearly and concisely.
‘So what has the South got?’ Jack tried to draw Robert into conversation. He needed to find out more about the man he was being paid to keep safe. This was as good an opportunity as he would likely get, and he wanted to keep him talking.
‘Slaves and cotton, that’s about it.’
‘What happens to the slaves?’ A thought was forming in Jack’s head. Robert’s father had made it clear that he considered the war with the South to be some sort of righteous crusade to free the slaves, at least in part.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Afterwards. After you win.’
‘You? Don’t you mean we, Jack, after we win?’ Robert teased, his face sporting a good-natured grin.
‘Yes, all right, after we win.’ Jack could not help smiling back.
‘They’ll be set free, of course. That’s one of the things we are fighting for.’ The answer was instant. ‘The Underground Railroad has been running for years. Father, bless him, has helped with that. With money, of course; he would never get his own hands dirty. Thousands of slaves have escaped and come to the North. Hell, Father seems to employ half of them. This war will just complete the job and set the whole damn lot of them free.’
‘And what about their owners?’
For the first time, Robert scowled. ‘What do you mean by that?’
‘Well, I presume these devils in the South actually buy the slaves. That makes them valuable. I suppose you could even call them capital. Are the owners going to get reparations if they suddenly lose them all?’
‘That’s not the point.’ Robert’s scowl deepened. ‘I don’t think anyone will lose any sleep if those rich Southern boys lose everything. Serves them right.’
‘Why? They were likely born into it. Just the same as you were born into your family.’ Jack was watching Robert closely. He was challenging him, testing his beliefs.
‘It’s just plain wrong and it needs to be stopped.’
‘And you’re going to help do that?’
Robert laughed. It was a rich sound and it filled the quiet storeroom. ‘You twisting my tail to see if I bite, Jack?’
‘Maybe. It sounds to me like you care more for this war than you let on.’
‘Does it? Hell, that’s no good.’ Robert was still laughing. ‘I’ll have to try harder.’
‘No, you’ll have to drop the image you seem so keen to maintain and be the man you can be.’ The words felt odd as they came out of Jack’s mouth, and he realised he was lecturing the younger man.
‘And where would the fun be in that?’ Robert reached out and clapped Jack on the shoulder. But his smile had faded.
‘You might enjoy it.’ Jack did not back away. He had started down this road and would not turn back. Somehow he had allowed Robert to become his responsibility. ‘You might even make your father proud. Your sister too.’
‘My sister?’ Robert’s smile returned. ‘I reckon she is proud of me already.’
‘Why’s that?’
Robert shrugged. ‘I’m her younger brother. It pretty much comes naturally. She looks out for me, keeps Father off my back.’
‘That might change when she marries Rowell.’
‘Only if she wants it to. Rowell will just be taken along for the ride. He’ll do what she says, just as he does what O’Connell says now.’
Jack made a note of the comment. Rowell looked the part, that much was certain, but Robert’s words revealed something about the man behind the immaculate facade. Yet it was not either Captain Rowell or First Sergeant O’Connell that he wanted to talk about. Elizabeth Kearney was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and her image was emblazoned across his thoughts in glorious detail.
‘You think she and Rowell are not well matched then?’
‘Hell, no! My dear sister’s a goddam challenge. People think that because she’s so pretty, she cannot think for herself. Well, I tell you, Elizabeth is the cleverest, shrewdest person I ever met. She got through governesses like you or I get through new shirts, one a season almost. None of them could keep up with her. She fair taught herself by the end. She works with Father now, and she probably knows his business even better than he does.’
Jack smiled. Once again Robert spoke with passion. He wanted to ask more questions but was prevented from doing so by the sound of someone else arriving at the store.
‘Mr Kearney?’ The main door of the warehouse opened and a voice called timidly through the opening.
‘Over here,’ Robert answered immediately. ‘Is that you, Amos?’
‘Yes, sir, it’s me.’ A fresh-faced soldier looked anxiously around the door before creeping inside. ‘I hope I ain’t bothering you none, sir.’
‘Not at all. Sergeant Lark and I were just checking the new rifles.’ Robert walked casually to the table and sat down again, his boots rising immediately to rest on the nearby crate. ‘What do you want?’ The casual manner was back.
Amos walked forward nervously, snatching his forage cap from his head then clutching it across his belly, his fingers screwing it into a tight ball as he approached. ‘I’m afraid there’s some trouble, sir.’
‘Trouble? What sort of trouble?’ Robert rested his hands in his lap as if settling for a nap.
‘A fight. Down on North Street.’
‘There’s a fight there every damn night, Amos. Half those damned cribs exist only for such vicious forms of entertainment.’
The young soldier’s eyes widened at his officer’s language and tone. ‘Begging your pardon, Mr Kearney, sir, but it’s our boys that started it. My brother and me, well, we only went along cos they made us. When the trouble started, we knew we had to get someone. It could turn real bad.’
‘Real bad.’ Robert mocked the soldier’s tone. ‘Well, I suggest you go back to Faneuil Hall and rouse up someone from there. Sergeant Lark and I are busy.’
Amos’s fatigue cap was screwed tighter. ‘Begging your pardon, Mr Kearney, sir, but it was First Sergeant O’Connell that sent me here.’
‘Hell, is that so?’ For the first time Robert took real interest.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And I don’t suppose you would be content to say you could not find me?’
Amos opened his mouth but no words came out.
‘Stop torturing the lad.’ Jack decided to intervene. He looked at Amos, who appeared to be about twelve years old and was wearing a uniform at least two sizes too big for his slender frame. ‘We will come directly, Amos.’
‘You can go, Jack. I have no intention of getting caught up in a ruckus. Least, not one not of my own making.’ Robert made a show of relaxing into his seat.
‘These are your men.’
‘They are O’Connell’s men. If he did not see fit to attend to them, then I see no reason why I should.’
Jack was of no mind to argue. Instead of wasting any more breath, he took a pace forward, then kicked Robert’s boots off the crate. ‘Get up.’
Robert’s eyes widened as he was forced to sit upright. ‘I’m not going.’
‘Yes, you are.’ Jack reached forward and took a firm grip of Robert’s upper arm, hauling him to his feet. ‘These are your men and they need you.’ He started to frogmarch the lieutenant towards the door.
‘All right!’ Robert shook off Jack’s grip. ‘I thought I outranked you. Do sergeants normally order their officers around?’
‘Only the good ones.’ Jack placed a hand between Robert’s shoulder blades and shoved him forward, ignoring the lieutenant’s bleat of protest. He glanced across at the young soldier, who was looking on aghast as the newly arrived Englishman manhandled one of his officers.
‘Well, lead on, Amos. You can show us the way.’ He gave the order with a half-smile that he hoped would reassure the young man.
Amos looked anything but reassured, but Robert spared him from summoning an answer. ‘There’s no need. I know the way. I’ve spent enough time there after all. Amos, head back to the hall and tell First Sergeant O’Connell that I was only too happy to see to our men. And make sure you tell him that Sergeant Lark is assisting me.’ He flashed a devilish smile at Jack. ‘That should grab his attention. He won’t like you interfering, but then that serves him right for having me dragged out. At least we can have a drink whilst we’re there, so it won’t be a total waste of our goddam time.’
He took a moment to straighten his uniform before he made for the door, with Jack trailing dutifully in his wake.
The Fiddling Sailor had little to recommend it. It lurked in a dank alley a few streets away from Faneuil Hall, and the sign advertising its presence was so faded that the establishment’s name could barely be discerned. Jack was not impressed. Robert had called it a crib, a new name to Jack. Whatever it was called, it was clearly a seedy dive, the type of place where back in London he would have expected to find bear baiting and whores.
The alley stank to high heaven, but it was not the ripe stench that concerned him. What worried him more was Robert Kearney showing no sign of hesitation as he proceeded down the steep flight of stone steps that led to the crib’s cellar.
The True Soldier: Jack Lark 6 Page 10