The True Soldier: Jack Lark 6

by Paul Fraser Collard

  ‘Lieutenant Lark needs to learn to hold his damn peace.’

  ‘And the good captain here needs to learn to do his fucking job,’ Jack growled. He was not bothered by Rowell’s opinion of him. He knew what he was. He did not need some jumped-up prick to tell him.

  ‘And you both need to know that my sister is walking right this way.’ Robert spoke quietly. ‘So you will now smile and try to pretend you’ve been having a lovely conversation about the weather.’

  Robert’s warning grabbed Jack’s attention in a way that Rowell’s words had failed to do. He had seen Elizabeth Kearney only twice, when she had come to visit her brother, and he had not been able to engage her in conversation on either occasion. The thought that she was approaching was enough to send a jolt through him. It also explained why Rowell was there. Clearly the Kearneys had chosen to visit the regiment and so A Company’s captain had been forced to join his men.

  ‘Smile, you bastard.’ Jack hissed the words softly so that only Rowell could hear them.

  Rowell glared, then stepped backwards, a fake smile plastered hastily across his face. ‘I think you and I will have to finish this discussion at some other time.’

  ‘I’ll look forward to it.’ Jack’s smile was just as insincere.

  Rowell’s eyes narrowed a fraction before he turned as if sensing Elizabeth’s approach. ‘Why there you are, my dear.’ He greeted her warmly. ‘I thought you would’ve stayed with your father.’

  ‘I wanted to see my brother.’ Elizabeth walked towards the three officers. She was dressed in a soft pink linen cambric dress and carried a gaily painted parasol that she had balanced on her shoulder. ‘But now I find all my favourite people already gathered together.’

  ‘And Lieutenant Lark is here also.’ Rowell thought the remark funny and he smirked at Jack.

  If Elizabeth heard something untoward in her fiancé’s tone, she did not show it. She walked close enough to link her arm through Rowell’s, then laid her head on his upper arm. ‘Father will be lunching with the colonel, so I said you would take me home.’ She lifted her head and looked up at him. ‘You don’t mind, do you?’

  ‘Not at all.’ Rowell reached down and patted her hand. ‘We can go to Spotswood House.’

  ‘That would be enchanting.’ Elizabeth smiled at the suggestion, then finally turned her attention to her brother. ‘Why aren’t you dressed?’

  Robert grinned at her. ‘It’s the new fashion. Do you not approve?’

  ‘It does not seem to be suitable attire for war.’ Elizabeth could not help laughing.

  ‘Is it not?’ Robert made a play of inspecting himself. ‘I thought it quite the thing.’

  ‘You might need boots.’

  ‘Ah, yes.’ He looked ruefully at his bare feet. ‘Perhaps you have something there.’ He laughed. ‘I’ll just go and get dressed.’

  ‘You should.’ Elizabeth glanced past her brother’s shoulder. ‘You do seem to have made yourselves nice and cosy in there.’ For the first time, she looked at Jack. ‘I trust my brother’s snoring doesn’t disturb you too badly.’

  Jack’s throat suddenly felt constricted. He cleared it rather noisily before replying. ‘No. It’s fine.’ He tried not to stare. Elizabeth’s cheeks bore a tiny smudge of pink. She looked radiant.

  ‘Well, I hear you will be marching soon enough.’ The corners of her mouth turned up as she sensed how awkward he was.

  ‘Is that so?’ Jack found himself watching her lips as she spoke. They captivated him.

  ‘The newspapers are full of it. You are off to Richmond, or at least that is what they say.’

  ‘Let us hope that is the case.’ Jack heard the stiffness in his reply.

  ‘You sound like you do not approve.’

  Jack frowned. Elizabeth’s tone had changed. When she had spoken to Rowell, her voice had been dripping with sweetness. Now it hardened as she challenged him.

  ‘No, it’s not that.’ Jack glanced at Rowell. He seemed perfectly happy now that Elizabeth was on his arm. Jack did not blame him. A man could go a long way with someone as beautiful as Elizabeth at his side.

  ‘Ethan does not like to talk of the war.’ Elizabeth glanced up at Rowell and gave him a reassuring smile.

  ‘And you do?’ Jack did not bother to look at the captain and focused all his attention on Elizabeth.

  ‘I confess I find it interesting.’ Again she glanced at her fiancé.

  ‘Elizabeth wants us to fight.’ Rowell could not keep the condescending tone from his reply. ‘But of course she does not know what that will be like. Not like you, Lark.’ He slipped the barbed comment in with a smile.

  ‘The battle needs to happen. There can be no peace or compromise, no union or secession, until war has determined which one it will be.’ Elizabeth spoke firmly and with certainty. ‘We are blockading the Confederate coast, but that can only go so far in forcing them to come to heel. We have already beaten a Confederate force in West Virginia. The secessionist forces retreated so fast that the papers called it the Philippi Races. That shows that the enemy will not stand. Now there is just a river between them and us. It is time to take the fight to them and bring this to a conclusion.’

  ‘Why must we attack?’ Jack was fascinated by the change that had come over the woman in front of him. Any simpering sweetness was gone.

  ‘If we don’t, then perhaps they will attack us here.’

  ‘I don’t think you have to worry about that.’

  ‘Don’t patronise me, Jack.’ Elizabeth’s reply was sharp.

  ‘I was not patronising you.’ Jack’s face burned. He looked at Rowell and saw the smirk back on his face.

  ‘You think we women cannot hear the truth, that it might damage our ears?’

  ‘No, I don’t think that at all.’ Jack was firmly on the back foot.

  ‘We are not just here to adorn your world. So you don’t think they will attack?’

  ‘No, I don’t.’ Jack was finding it hard to keep up.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I don’t imagine they’re any more ready than we are, and it’s harder to launch an attack into enemy territory than it is to sit on the defensive. You need more men, for a start, not to mention a better supply chain. It’s much easier to defend, and a well-entrenched enemy is nearly impossible to shift.’ He answered her seriously.

  ‘And being on the defensive plays to their cause.’ Elizabeth considered Jack’s opinion. ‘They already see us as the aggressor. It is our telling them how to live their lives that has caused this war, at least in their eyes. They want to self-govern. After all, isn’t that what our forebears fought for when they beat off the British? The South want to be free, not of the Old World this time, but of Washington. It will be so much better for them if we invade. For then they will be standing up for their liberty; the injured party forced to defend their homes. Yes, I think if we attack, it will suit them very nicely indeed.’

  She turned her attention back to her fiancé. ‘Why does Jack say we are not ready? Do you think he is correct?’ She asked the question in the sweetest tone.

  ‘Lieutenant Lark is not aware of the full situation, my love. The junior ranks are not generally made aware of all that is going on.’

  ‘So we are ready?’

  ‘We’re getting there.’ Rowell patted the hand that was still resting on his arm.

  ‘But you think differently?’ Elizabeth fired the question at Jack.

  ‘I do. The men are too slow. We need to be doing more rifle drill.’

  ‘Why is that important?’ Elizabeth looked deep into his eyes.

  ‘It’s how we kill the enemy. It’s what we are here for. We need to kill more of them than they kill of us.’ Jack heard the coldness creep into his tone. He wanted to make her shiver. She was so composed and so knowledgeable.
She was well informed and understood many of the reasons for the war that was coming, yet she did not know everything. She might know why they would be going to fight, and she might wish for the battle that could end the dispute between the two halves of the country, but she did not know what she was asking for.

  For a moment, Elizabeth did not reply. She just looked at Jack as if she was gazing into his very soul.

  ‘Such talk is not for a lady’s ears, Lieutenant,’ Rowell objected.

  Jack paid his captain no heed. He was watching Elizabeth. His skin was on fire and his body thrilled to a pressure building in the air.

  ‘I think it’s time to take you home.’ Rowell would have had to be blind to miss the look Jack was giving his beautiful bride-to-be.

  ‘Yes, of course.’ Elizabeth blinked twice, then looked up at her fiancé and smiled. ‘You take such good care of me, Ethan. I am so lucky to have you.’

  Rowell beamed at the praise. He was still smiling as he turned to lead Elizabeth away. He completely missed the final look she sent Jack’s way.

  Jack felt the weight of her gaze for no more than the span of a single heartbeat, but he was sure she had felt something of the same sensations he had. He did not know what it meant, but he was sure of one thing.

  There would be a storm that summer, one that would engulf the whole country. He sensed there would also be a thunderstorm closer to home, the tension between him and Rowell certain to explode into something more violent. Then there was Elizabeth. There was a very different type of pressure between them, but when it erupted it would likely be no less spectacular.

  He looked up at the sky. A thick band of grey cloud was smothering the blue, and already the sun was being shrouded in darkness.

  The storm was coming.

  Emmart’s Farm, Washington, Thursday 4 July 1861

  Independence Day had arrived bright and hot, with blue sky stretching from one horizon to the other. The men had been up early; there was a lot to be done to have them looking their best for the long day ahead. Uniforms had been scrubbed and brushed. Leather had been buffed so that it glistened in the morning sunlight. Rifles had been oiled and bayonets polished again and again so that they would catch the sun.

  The parade was timed to commence at noon. Now the men stood in their ranks and sweated as they waited to march across the great open space kept clear for this day. For once they were silent, waiting stoically even as they boiled in their own sweat. Every man looked across the open ground to the great throng of men, women and children who had been arriving since early that morning.

  The day was to be one of celebration, the large dusty space on one side of Emmart’s Farm where the men had learned to manoeuvre in larger formations now given over to a great fair. The crowd had grown throughout the morning. Now thousands of relations and well-wishers had gathered to celebrate the day with men about to fight in the great climactic battle that would decide the fate of their nation once and for all.

  ‘A Company! Prepare to march!’ First Sergeant O’Connell shouted the order that had every man in the company straighten his spine.

  Jack thought the men had never looked better. Even the scallywags in D Company had made sure that their turnout was first rate. The 1st Boston Volunteer Militia looked like soldiers.

  ‘Forward! March!’

  The instruction was repeated all the way down the regiment’s column of companies. On cue, the band began to play. The strains of ‘The Star-Spangled Banner’ washed over the troops as they began to march. Straight away a number of men turned and grinned at Jack, the song’s lyrics a defiant reminder of the colonists’ defence of Fort McHenry, the same fort the 1st Boston had glimpsed on their approach to Baltimore. The song was a favourite of the regiment and Jack heard it most nights. The men never tired of teasing the Englishman in their midst for his country’s role in the history of their young nation.

  The troops marched from their allotted place on the far side of the open ground. Scanlon led the way mounted on a fine black charger. The colour party, eight corporals and one colour sergeant, followed close behind him bearing the national colours along with the Massachusetts state flag. The regiment’s bandsmen followed the colour party, with Major Bridges, the only other officer mounted, leading the second half of the regiment.

  Jack marched on the right of A Company. It felt decidedly odd to follow the flag of a foreign power, one that had once been Britain’s enemy, but he could see what it meant to the men around him. They marched with pride. Their ranks had become a little ragged by the time they reached the reviewing platform set up for the great and good of Washington society who had been invited to join the celebrations, but they still marched past with swagger.

  There were cheers and applause as the men wheeled left. The sound washed over the marching soldiers and was loud enough to drown out the band. To their credit, they kept their heads facing front, even as the crowd waved banners and flags, all the while roaring their delight at the sight of such a fine body of men. It took several long minutes for the rest of the regiment to pass the reviewing stand. The noise of the crowd did not diminish, even as the very last company in the column marched past.

  With the short parade completed, the men formed up in long ranks facing the stand. They stood to attention, their arms shouldered. To Jack’s surprise, it was his paymaster who stepped forward to make the first of the day’s speeches.

  ‘We stand here together on this our Independence Day to give thanks to the great men who forged this wondrous country.’ Kearney’s voice was loud and clear, any frailty hidden. There was no stick being used this day. ‘And we give thanks to you, our soldiers, for your unswerving loyalty to the flag that flies over us all.’

  He paused as more cheers surged from the crowd. He held the moment, smiling beneficently as he waited for the noise to subside. ‘We have never been prouder than we are today. Thanks to you, the Union will be preserved. Through your efforts we will show the world what we are about.’

  Again he was forced to pause, as the cheers grew more raucous. It took the best part of a minute for the crowd to calm enough for him to continue.

  ‘Today we must remember the founding fathers of this great nation of ours. What they set up cannot be undone. It is our duty to preserve this most precious Union. We are one nation under God and we cannot let the work of our founding fathers be undermined. The Southerners are not evil. They are just misguided. They are stubborn, and like a stubborn child they need a lesson. One short, sharp shock and they will see the error of their ways. We must smack them into line.’

  The crowd erupted. The cheers were interspersed with cries to smite the secessionists, Kearney’s words resonating with a large number of the more belligerent onlookers. If he planned to say more, he would not get the chance. The crowd had seized control of the moment and now they held on to it, cheering and shouting for all they were worth. The soldiers stood in their long ranks and let the noise roll around them.

  Jack watched the spectacle without feeling. It was as if he were observing the parade from afar. He felt detached, somehow not a part of the proceedings, which were growing more passionate by the moment.

  ‘Three cheers for the Union!’ Even O’Connell had been captured by the surging tide of emotion. He shouted the order from his place at the front of the company.

  The men needed little urging to obey. As one they roared, their deep voices thunderous enough to drown out the crowd. Only when the third cheer died away did the crowd redouble its efforts to shout themselves hoarse.

  ‘Company! Company, dismiss.’

  All along the line, first sergeants bellowed the order. It was time to let discipline fall by the wayside. It was Independence Day; a day to celebrate the birth of the nation and to give the men a rousing send-off, even though they had yet to be given any orders to march.

  ‘Jack!’ Robert plucked a
t Jack’s sleeve, shouting to make himself heard. Around them the men were rushing to stack the weapons before disappearing to enjoy the fair that was waiting for them to arrive. ‘I think I’m going to get drunk.’ Robert cackled with delight as he told Jack of his plans.

  ‘Go! Go!’ Jack had no desire to hold the lieutenant back. There was no stopping any of them today.

  Robert bounded away, leaving Jack standing alone. He did not follow the rest of the regiment as they swarmed towards the fair. There was a shooting range for those wishing to display their newly acquired martial talents. For those less well trained, there was archery, the usual target butts replaced with straw figures dressed as Confederate soldiers. There were skittles and shies for the younger members of the crowd, and apples ready to be ducked from barrels of water. There were pony rides for the children, and the officers would compete in a steeplechase later in the afternoon, when the heat of the day had lessened.

  For the hungry and thirsty there were stalls selling lemonade and dozens of tables smothered with a feast laid on in the men’s honour. There was even a photographer’s stand for those wishing to capture a memento of the day. The temporary studio had been set up in the shade of one of the few trees in the vicinity. To Jack’s eye it appeared to be little more than an accumulation of scientific equipment and uncomfortable-looking braces to keep the subjects still for the many seconds it took for the image to be fixed onto the photographic plate. Already dozens were forming a queue there, the demand for the fashionable cartes de visite certain to outstrip the small team’s ability to supply them.

  The only thing missing was beer or any form of spirit, the good citizens of Washington preferring to celebrate the day in more temperate fashion. But they had other bounty for the boys about to wage war on the secessionist foes. There were woollen scarves, coats, capes, mufflers and patchwork blankets to keep the men warm and comfortable when the campaign started. There were sacks of coffee, tins of biscuits, loaves of bread and jars of preserves to keep them sustained. Finally, there was a bewildering array of knives, revolvers and machetes to arm them so that none would be lacking when they eventually faced the foe on the field of battle.