The True Soldier: Jack Lark 6

by Paul Fraser Collard

  A rioter burst from the crowd and dodged his way to the front of the column, a few dozen paces ahead of Rowell and O’Connell. The mob cheered him, the feral roar doubling in intensity as the rioter unfurled a palmetto flag that he had attached to a piece of lumber. With his makeshift colours flying, he made a parody of marching like a soldier. The crowd bayed and roared as the man mocked the Union troops. It was a fine entertainment and it inspired the mob to let loose another flurry of missiles.

  ‘Keep it steady!’ Jack called out in encouragement. His men’s faces betrayed their horror. They were on home soil and yet they marched as if through the heart of an enemy’s domain. He doubted if any of them had ever experienced anything like it. He knew he had not. The hatred on display that day was far beyond his experience. He had fought in the bitterest battles, against foes desperate to kill him. Yet he had never faced an enemy that displayed such loathing as the mob through which they now marched.

  He looked at Robert. ‘Stay close to the men.’

  For a moment Robert stared at him in incomprehension. Then he managed to nod, his tongue flickering out of his mouth to lick nervously across his lips.

  Jack moved away immediately, double-timing along the side of the column. Hands reached out from the crowd, fists shaking in his direction, and more than one man tried to grab at him. He kept going, forcing his way and ignoring the invective aimed at him. He kept his eyes focused on the man marching with the makeshift flag.

  As he burst around the leading corner of the column, he could see both Rowell and O’Connell turning to stare at him. He cared nothing for their thoughts. It was time to show his men that they still controlled their own destiny.

  It did not take him long to reach the man marching with the enemy’s flag.

  The rioter turned in mid-stride as he sensed Jack’s arrival. Jack gave him no time to speak. The man was young, perhaps no more than twenty years old. His bravado had brought him to this place. He had danced to the roars of the crowd, revelling in his mockery of the hated Union soldiers. Now a grim-faced Northern sergeant confronted him and he stumbled to a halt, uncertain how to react.

  Jack had planned the punch with care, and it landed exactly where he had intended. His right fist connected perfectly with the rioter’s mouth. Anything he wanted to say was rammed back down his throat as his lips were mashed against his teeth. Jack reached forward and snatched the brightly coloured flag from the pole.

  ‘You damned Yankee bastard.’ The rioter was not done, even with the blood now streaming over his chin. His flag gone, he twisted the long piece of lumber around in his hands, turning the splintered pole into a weapon.

  ‘Shut your muzzle.’ Jack saw what the man intended. It was easy enough to sway back and let him lash the lumber past his front. The rioter stumbled as his blow failed to connect. It gave Jack an opening, and he stepped forward, slamming his fist into the man’s throat. The rioter fell on his arse, his hands clutched to his crushed windpipe, his angry cries shut off as he choked and spluttered in the dirt.

  ‘Face front and keep marching.’ Jack tossed the man’s flag at a soldier in the front rank, then roared the order. He did not bother to drag the rioter out of the way. Instead he double-timed to one side, leaving the company to flow around the man’s prostrate body. More than one blue-coated soldier lashed out with his boots at the man who had taunted them.

  ‘Double time!’ O’Connell was quick to grasp the opportunity Jack had given them. The men responded immediately. The shouts of the crowd were drowned out as the column increased its pace, the insults and cries of derision hidden beneath the sound of army boots pounding onto cobbles and the noise of the soldiers’ equipment thumping and clattering against their bodies.

  The men pressed on, moving more quickly now. Their breath started to rasp in their throats as the faster pace tested their strength, but Jack doubted any would complain. He had moved to one side as the column came past, and now he jogged alongside it once again, back in his place in front of Robert. More than one man flashed him a smile, their approval of his actions clear. He had given them heart, just when they had needed it.

  The mob was still following the men through the streets, but no more missiles flew towards the fast-moving soldiers. Jack began to dare to hope that the worst was behind them. The howling mob had tested the company’s mettle, but they had come through the ordeal with nothing more than a couple of bloodied scalps and a few bruises. If they could just get to Camden station without having to deal with another confrontation, then the day would serve to temper them and help prepare them for the harder fights ahead.

  ‘Company! March!’ O’Connell shouted the order that slowed the pace.

  Jack felt an icy rush flush through his veins. He looked ahead to see what had made the first sergeant reduce the men’s speed.

  The street was blocked. A makeshift barricade had been thrown across the path the soldiers would have to take. It was made of mounds of sand reinforced with heavy anchors, and the train tracks used by the cars as they passed through the city had been ripped up and used to strength it further. Behind the barricade was another mob. They were armed with crowbars and picks and they were waiting for the soldiers to arrive.

  Jack’s hopes died. There would be no easy passage to the other station. The Union soldiers would have to fight their way through.

  ‘Company, halt!’ O’Connell gave the only order he could.

  The men came to a noisy standstill. Most gasped for air, the fast pace stretching their lungs and draining the strength from legs not yet used to such exertion.

  ‘Stand fast.’ Jack had just enough breath for the command. His own lungs burned from the strain of moving at double time, but neither he nor any of the men in the two companies would be given respite.

  With a great roar, the mob unleashed a fresh salvo of missiles. The Union soldiers were hit from every direction as the crowd that followed the column surged forward to surround them once again.

  It was chaos. Stones and rocks rained down on the troops. Dozens were hit, their cries of pain lost against the storm of noise coming from the mob. A man in the rank to Jack’s left went down. Jack had no idea what had hit the unfortunate fellow, but he was given no time to render any aid. Suddenly a volley of gunshots snapped past. He could not help flinching as he heard the dreadful whip-crack sound. It was as if the air was alive with a plague of snapping, biting insects, and more than one man ducked or waved his hands around his head as if he could somehow shoo the deadly missiles away.

  ‘They’re shooting at us!’ Amos cried out in a dreadful mix of fear and shock.

  ‘Shut up!’ Jack placed himself between Robert and the rioters. They still hung back, but the closest could not be more than five yards away. He could see the snarls on their faces as they bellowed insults at the soldiers. A few still had missiles to throw, and Jack could only watch as they hurled them at the stationary soldiers.

  ‘We need to get moving,’ he bellowed. ‘We can’t stay here.’ As if to emphasise the fact, a brick smashed violently on the cobbles a couple of inches from Robert’s boots.

  ‘Jesus Christ!’ The lieutenant cried out as fragments hit his legs. ‘We need to go back!’

  ‘No!’ Jack knew there was no way to retreat. The company could only press on and hope to God that none of them were killed.

  He turned on his heel, thinking to run to Rowell and tell him what had to be done. As he did so, another volley of gunfire spat out from the mob. Once again the air was alive with the bowel-churning hum of bullets cracking through the air. And this time the mob had aimed lower.

  A man screamed. ‘They hit the lieutenant!’

  Jack heard the horrified shouts from the far side of the company. He pushed his way through the ranks, careless of hurting the men he barged past, emerging from the last files to see Clancy sprawled on the ground. A bullet had hit him
in the throat. He lay on his back, staring at the sky, his broken spectacles beside him. Blood pulsed from the dreadful wound, flowing down his neck and onto the cobbles. The young officer’s mouth opened and closed as he tried to speak, the blood that poured down his throat drowning his dying words.

  ‘Give it to them!’ Jack heard the crowd baying for more blood. ‘Kill the white niggers!’

  The news was spreading fast through the company that one of their lieutenants had been killed. The men looked around them, their pale, drawn expressions betraying their shock and fear.

  ‘Can I shoot!’ O’Dowd stood in the ranks near Clancy. Now he shouted at Jack, his rifle held ready to open fire. ‘Can I fecking shoot!’

  Jack saw the madness in the Irishman’s eyes. He moved fast, stepping past Clancy’s corpse and using his own rifle to batter O’Dowd’s upwards so that it pointed at the sky. ‘Wait for your fucking orders.’

  ‘They’re killing us!’ O’Dowd bellowed back. ‘They’re fecking killing us!’

  Other soldiers started to shout out. Many held their rifles ready to pull them into their shoulders, and some were already preparing to fire.

  ‘Hold fast!’ Jack stalked up and down the flank of the column, daring the men to disobey him. ‘Hold fast, damn your eyes.’

  His shoulders twitched as he turned his back on the mob. He expected to be struck at any moment, but he forced himself to ignore the fear.

  ‘Advance!’ The order rang out. Jack thought it was Scanlon, the command coming from the rear of the company’s ranks.

  ‘Pick up the lieutenant!’ he bellowed. He would not leave Clancy behind. Two soldiers obeyed him, quickly handing their rifles to a comrade before bending down to retrieve the body.

  The company started to move, the men pressing on towards the barricade that blocked their path. There was nothing else to be done. The barrier would have to be cleared.

  Through a gap in the ranks Jack caught a glimpse of Scanlon and Bridges. A man he did not recognise was with them. He could only presume a city official had somehow found his way to the beleaguered men of the 1st Boston. He had no idea what message had been delivered, but whatever it was, it had led to the correct command being given. The men could not stay where they were.

  ‘Come on!’ He shouted encouragement to the men around him. They were moving more quickly now. From his position on the left flank he could not see what Rowell or O’Connell were doing. He could only run alongside the troops and hope that the mob would not stand their ground.

  ‘Forward!’

  The men increased their pace. They stormed onwards now, their ranks disordered. The mob behind the barricade saw them coming. Many stepped back, ceding the obstacle to the soldiers, but enough stayed to contest their passage.

  ‘Come on!’ Jack could see enough to know that the barricade was not going to be given up without a fight. His boots thumped on the cobbles as he began to run. He could feel his equipment bouncing off his body and his ears were filled with the roar of his own breathing.

  His boots scrabbled on the barricade, slipping on the mounds of sand before he managed to find purchase on one of the heavy anchors that formed the bulk of the wall. He scrambled up the front, holding his rifle awkwardly in one hand whilst using the other to haul himself up. For a moment, his boots slipped, then he felt them grip and he swung himself up and over the top, his backside scraping across a torn-up rail.

  A rioter armed with a crowbar stood behind the barricade. He braced his feet and lunged the moment Jack’s boots hit the ground. The crowbar came at Jack fast, but he had fought a hundred battles like this and he swatted it aside with the butt of his rifle before he had even found his balance. He saw a look of fear flicker across his opponent’s face as the man realised he had missed. It was almost too easy. Jack stepped forward, his arms still jangling from the contact with the crowbar. He kept the rifle swinging, bringing the barrel around then slamming it into the side of the rioter’s head.

  The contact was brutal. The rioter staggered to one side. Jack gave him no time to recover. He lunged with the rifle, driving the barrel into the pit of the man’s stomach. The rioter could do nothing and he bent forward, the air rushing from his body in a single great gasp. He was defenceless and hurting, but Jack would not leave him standing. He brought the rifle butt down on the man’s head, bludgeoning him into the dirt without mercy.

  ‘Come on!’ He roared encouragement at his troops. He need not have bothered. The men of the company had not hesitated. They came over the barricade together and drove the rioters backwards. Any who tried to stand were dealt with without pity. Half a dozen were knocked down. It was enough to send the rest packing, and now they streamed away from the wall.

  For the first time that day, the Union soldiers cheered. They had seen one of their officers killed and they had endured everything the mob had thrown at them. Now they roared in defiance, daring the rioters to come back and fight like men.

  ‘Form up!’ O’Connell came striding through the company’s broken ranks. If he was impressed by his command’s achievement, he was not showing it. ‘Lark. Get the men formed up. Now!’ He marched on, repeating his message.

  ‘You heard the first sergeant!’ Jack stepped past the man he had struck down. ‘Form up! Look lively now!’ He grabbed the closest man and shoved him forward.

  The men moved quickly, obediently filling out the ranks. Jack left them to it and went to find Robert. He had abandoned his charge, and now he needed to make sure the man he was being paid to protect was still in one piece.

  Robert had perched himself on the rear of the barricade whilst the company reformed. To Jack’s relief, he was unscathed save for a great stain over one side of his uniform jacket.

  ‘You look knackered,’ Jack said by way of greeting.

  Robert looked up. ‘Where were you?’

  ‘Helping with Clancy.’

  ‘I cannot believe he is dead.’ Robert appeared ready to vomit.

  ‘Well, he is.’ Jack spoke harshly. There would be a time to mourn the young officer. That time would only come when the rest of the company were safe. ‘You’d better deal with it pretty damn fast.’

  ‘You’re cruel.’ Robert looked at Jack as if seeing him for the first time. He was clearly appalled at such callousness.

  ‘It’s just how it is.’ Jack ignored the look on his officer’s face. ‘Are you hurt?’ He gestured to the side of Robert’s chest that was stained brown.

  ‘No.’ Robert plucked ruefully at his jacket. ‘I was hit by shit.’

  ‘Well, aren’t you the lucky one.’ Jack did not give him time to say anything further. The company was nearly re-formed and he had seen Major Bridges arrive with Scanlon.

  ‘Get moving, goddam it.’ Scanlon bustled through the last of the re-forming ranks. ‘Captain Rowell, get your damn company moving.’

  ‘Sir, the roads are blocked!’ Rowell protested. ‘We must turn back.’

  Scanlon moved fast. He got into Rowell’s face, thrusting his chin upwards. ‘We ain’t turning back, Captain Rowell. We don’t run from lily-livered pieces of filth.’

  ‘Sir, it’s—’

  ‘Shut your goddam mouth.’ Scanlon snarled the words into Rowell’s face, flecks of spittle splattering across the younger man’s cheeks. ‘Major Bridges and I will take Captain Thompson’s company south and try to get to Camden station that way. I want your company to go straight ahead. These merry fuckers cannot be everywhere.’

  ‘You are splitting us up?’ Rowell was aghast.

  ‘Those are my orders, Captain Rowell,’ Scanlon snapped back, then he turned away, giving Rowell no chance to say anything further.

  Jack had noticed Rowell stiffen with anger as he was shouted down. His uniform was still immaculate. He also noticed that the captain had drawn his revolver. The sight of the beautiful ivo
ry-handled Colt sent a jolt of pure jealousy running through him.

  ‘Get to your feet.’ He snapped the command at Robert, who had made no attempt to stand.

  ‘We’re not ready to go.’

  ‘Get to your fucking feet now.’ Jack was in no mood to be ignored. He reached forward and hauled the lieutenant upright.

  ‘Who the hell do you think you are?’ Robert was angry at being manhandled in such a way.

  Jack growled in lieu of an answer. He shoved the lieutenant forward, forcing him to walk. It was time to stop thinking. It was time to march.

  It had not taken long for the rioters to regather their courage. They might have fled from the barricade without much of a fight, but they had regrouped and now they came back looking for revenge.

  The two infantry companies had not hung around waiting for them. K Company had already marched south with Scanlon at their head, whilst A Company had stayed on the road they were already on. They had resumed the march without interference, the swift taking of the barricade buying them some time.

  ‘Here they come again,’ Amos Thatcher cried out in warning.

  Jack stared ahead. The company had covered no more than four city blocks and were at the corner of Gay and Pratt streets. The mob filled the width of Pratt Street. There were thousands of them, and they were heading straight for the column.

  ‘Holy mother of God,’ breathed Robert as he too saw what was approaching.

  The first rocks and stones came flying from the depths of the crowd. The range was long and they skittered across the cobbles in front of the now stationary infantrymen. The sight was still enough to elicit a great roar from the mob, which now stormed forward.

  ‘What are we going to do?’ Robert pressed close behind Jack’s back.

  ‘We fight.’ Jack fired back the reply. He knew that most of those nearby were listening.

  ‘We cannot fight that many!’