The True Soldier: Jack Lark 6

by Paul Fraser Collard

  ‘Then they would be mistaken.’ Jack stuck to his resolute defence.

  ‘Do not let your pride cloud your judgement.’ Russell took a pace forward and lowered his tone. ‘If you fought at the Alma then you know what this mob will face if they insist on attacking the secessionists.’

  ‘I know what they face, sir. That does not mean I will abandon them.’

  Russell studied Jack’s face. ‘Then you are either one of the bravest men I have ever met, or the greatest fool. Either way I shall wish you good fortune. At the end, you are an Englishman and a soldier at that. I shall look for you again, sir. I hope you will live long enough for us to continue this conversation at another juncture.’

  ‘I hope so too.’ Despite Russell’s abrasive and disagreeable nature, Jack could not help having enjoyed being able to speak to a man he had long admired.

  He thought on what Russell had said as the journalist and his posse of escorting officers walked away. The man from the Times had been quite correct. Jack was an Englishman and he was a soldier. He thought the two titles defined him pretty well.

  ‘Lieutenant Lark, I apologise for disturbing you.’

  Jack sat up quickly. He had been lying on his camp bed, his mind wandering from his encounter with William Russell to the more troublesome time spent with Elizabeth. He was almost relieved to be disturbed.

  ‘Good afternoon, sir.’ He had recognised the voice that had interrupted his rest immediately. He wondered why the regiment’s second in command had sought him out. He got to his feet and quickly tucked his shirt back into his trousers. His uniform jacket lay on the foot of the bed.

  ‘May I come in?’ Bridges hovered on the tent’s threshold.

  ‘Of course.’ Jack sensed the major was uncomfortable. He gestured towards the chairs pulled under the tent’s camp table. ‘Do sit down.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Bridges nodded firmly and took one of the two chairs. He removed his kepi and placed it on the table in front of him. Unlike Jack, he was wearing his full uniform. He was clearly hot, his neck and cheeks flushed, but he made no open display of discomfort as he waited for Jack to join him.

  Jack walked across the tent and took the second chair. ‘I’m afraid I cannot offer you tea.’ He offered a smile as he attempted to be humorous.

  ‘This is not a social call.’ Bridges’ reply was stiff and formal.

  ‘I see.’ Jack held back a sigh. ‘How can I help?’

  ‘I shall not dissemble.’ Bridges gnawed the lower reaches of his moustache. ‘I must ask you to desist in your pursuit of Miss Kearney.’

  ‘My pursuit?’

  ‘I have heard a rumour. If it has reached my ears, then I expect it is hardly new.’ Bridges kept his gaze riveted on Jack’s face.

  Jack had to give the major credit. He clearly knew that he would not be the first to hear of any tittle-tattle. He was also acting true to his word. No one could accuse him of dissembling. ‘I don’t know what you’ve heard, sir. But I promise you, I’m not pursing any woman, Miss Kearney least of all.’

  Bridges’ eyes narrowed as he pondered on Jack’s denial. ‘You were seen.’

  ‘Seen?’

  ‘This very afternoon.’ Bridges’ stare was glacial.

  ‘I suspect I’m seen most afternoons.’

  ‘Do not make me spell it out, Lieutenant. You were seen with Miss Kearney at the fair. I understand that it was an intimate moment.’

  ‘You mean some nosy, prying bastard saw her kiss me?’

  Bridges scowled. ‘I would ask you to moderate your language.’

  Jack controlled his rising temper with difficulty. He had known this could happen. Elizabeth had chosen a very public arena for her gesture.

  ‘I apologise, sir.’ He spoke through gritted teeth. ‘May I ask who dobbed us in?’

  ‘If you mean who started the rumour, then I do not know and I do not care to find out. What does concern me is how Captain Rowell will react if the story reaches his ears.’

  ‘If you’ve heard it, then I imagine he will too soon enough.’

  ‘Perhaps. Perhaps not. Either way, you must desist in pursuing Miss Kearney’s affection.’

  ‘Is that what I was doing?’ Jack could not help growling the reply. He knew he had encouraged Elizabeth, if only through the display of his obvious attraction to her. She was to be another man’s bride and yet he had gone sniffing around her like a mongrel finding a bitch on heat.

  ‘It appears so.’ Bridges was not warming to the topic.

  ‘Then I apologise.’ This time Jack meant it. He was disappointed with himself. He had started to like Major Bridges. The man might not be everyone’s cup of tea, but to Jack’s mind he had the calm, composed nature that would serve his troops well in battle.

  Bridges nodded in acceptance. ‘Let us hope that Captain Rowell does not hear of it. Or if he does, that he turns the other cheek.’

  ‘And if he doesn’t?’ Jack did not know Rowell that well, but he was pretty sure the captain was not the kind of man to let something like this lie.

  Bridges agreed. ‘Then he will fight you. I don’t think he has a hope of winning, but he will still fight you if it becomes clear you have stolen his honour.’

  ‘What do I do if he does?’ Jack asked the question sincerely. He did not want to fight Rowell.

  ‘You must refuse.’ Bridges looked Jack directly in the eye. ‘You must show forbearance.’

  Jack grunted. He did not think he had an ounce of forbearance in him. If Rowell tried to fight him, Jack did not think he would be able to stand back.

  ‘I trust you to do the right thing, Jack.’ Bridges read his thoughts.

  ‘You do?’ Jack could not help sighing. ‘You’ve more faith in me than I do.’

  Bridges bristled his moustache, then stood up. ‘I have every faith in you, Jack. You are a unique individual. I suspect the only person who doubts you is yourself.’

  He said nothing more as he left the tent.

  Jack stayed seated. He did not know if he could live up to Bridges’ opinion of him. But he was sure that if Rowell came looking for a fight, it would take one hell of an effort not to give it to him.

  The first salvo of fireworks sounded like a distant artillery barrage. They lit up the sky, the bright flashes of colour momentarily casting an eerie hue over the encampment.

  Jack stood on the far side of the ground where the regiment had paraded earlier that day. He had not gone to join the great crowd of people that thronged behind the line of rope laid out to stop them coming too close to the men charged with setting off the display. From their viewing area, the spectators cooed and cheered each explosion, their delight at the spectacle laid on for them reaching across to where he stood and watched from a distance.

  It was a vibrant end to the day of celebration. The crowd had enjoyed the entertainments, then feasted on a giant hog roast that would have fed at least double the number of people present. Jack had stayed clear of the whole thing, eating a lonely dinner of hardtack and coffee whilst thinking on how he would react if Rowell did demand they fight. He had no doubt in his mind that he could better his captain. Rowell might possess the physique of a fairy-tale hero, but Jack was a lad from Whitechapel. He had been fighting his whole life. Rowell would not stand a chance.

  He heard someone approaching. He peered into the darkness, half expecting it to be Rowell come to demand a duel. He saw a shadowy figure walking towards him. He knew who it was immediately.

  ‘What are you doing here, Rose?’ he asked.

  ‘Same as you, I’d say.’ Rose walked closer so that he could just about make out her face in the light of the exploding fireworks.

  ‘And what’s that?’

  ‘Hiding.’

  ‘Why do you think I’m hiding?’ He snapped back at her.

/>   ‘Perhaps you’re hiding from someone. From Mr Rowell, maybe? Or perhaps you’re hiding from my mistress.’

  ‘You know a lot about my business.’

  Rose came closer. ‘Maybe you shouldn’t do your business in front of everyone. You should learn to be more discreet.’

  ‘And you should learn to keep quiet.’

  ‘Ahh,’ Rose cooed as she heard his temper. ‘I’m making you angry.’

  ‘Yes, you bloody well are,’ he growled back at her. ‘You peached on me, didn’t you?’

  ‘Peached?’ From her tone, it was clear Rose was not frightened of him.

  ‘Dobbed me in.’ He shook his head in exasperation as he was forced to translate. ‘You told on me.’

  ‘Yes. I did. And I’d do it again if I had to.’

  ‘You need to keep your damn nose out of business that doesn’t concern you.’

  Rose laughed at his harsh tone. ‘You don’t scare me, Jack Lark. I’ve seen men who make you look like one of the little boys who sing in the church choir.’

  ‘Is that so?’ He loomed over her. She was small and fragile. He could reach out and throttle her without breaking sweat. Yet she looked up at him with eyes blazing with defiance.

  ‘Oh yes. I’ve known bad men.’ Her hand strayed to the thin scars on her face. The gesture was enough to make him take a deep breath and bring his temper under control. He was not a bully. Frightening young women was for other men. It was not who he was.

  ‘You shouldn’t have told on me.’

  ‘Why not?’ Rose glared up at him. ‘It was better it came soon enough to put a stop to you mooning over that woman.’

  ‘That woman? You mean Elizabeth?’ He did not understand the disgust in Rose’s tone as she referred to her mistress.

  ‘Of course I mean her. She’s the only set of petticoats you’ve been chasing, isn’t she?’

  ‘I haven’t been chasing her.’ He half turned away. He had had his fill of talking about Elizabeth Kearney.

  ‘Of course you have. We all saw it.’ Rose reached out and laid a hand on his arm as if she was worried he would move away before she could finish speaking. ‘She’s not what she seems. She uses men, plays with them. You’re just another one of her games.’

  He scowled. ‘She’s not like that.’ He thought back to the conversation that had led to the kiss. ‘You don’t know her.’

  ‘And you do?’ Rose cackled at his claim. ‘I’ve spent every day with her for three years now, yet you think you know her better because she kissed you.’

  ‘It’s more than that.’

  ‘You’re a fool.’

  ‘No. You—’

  Whatever he wanted to say was lost as Rose put her hands on his shoulders and pulled herself up high enough to smother his mouth with her lips. There was no passion in the kiss. It was fierce and it crushed his own lips back into his teeth. She looked at him the whole time, her eyes blazing. Then she pulled away, stumbling back a half-pace as she hit the ground.

  She glared at him then. ‘There. Now you know me as well as you know her.’ She shook her head and placed her hands on her hips. ‘You’re a fool.’

  He raised a hand to his lips, his fingertips running over the bruised flesh. ‘If I’m a fool, then what are you?’ he retorted. The fireworks still lit up the sky. The colours of the explosions played over Rose’s face, casting it in odd shades whilst leaving much of it in shadow.

  ‘Don’t you worry none about me. Worry about yourself.’ Rose took another half-step away, losing herself in the darkness, leaving Jack standing alone once more.

  Emmart’s Farm, Washington, Monday 15 July 1861

  ‘Good morning, gentlemen.’ Colonel Scanlon brought the hum of conversation to an abrupt close. The officers of the 1st Boston had been gathered at the colonel’s request. They stood in a group in front of a folding table outside the large bell tent that contained the regimental headquarters.

  Jack was on the periphery of the group. He knew few of his fellow officers well enough to be comfortable in their company. He had looked for Robert, but A Company’s other lieutenant was missing. Rowell stood on the far side with some of the other captains. He had seen Jack arrive, but he had not extended any sort of welcome other than a momentary scowl.

  The air felt dreadfully close. Jack watched Scanlon patiently as the colonel waited for the expectant conversations to hush completely. He did his best not to fidget, despite the river of sweat running down his neck to soak the collar of his second shirt of the day. It was a small mercy that O’Dowd had become adept at getting his officers’ shirts cleaned, otherwise Jack would have reeked to high heaven. Judging by the ripe aromas coming from some of the regiment’s other officers, not all of them were fortunate enough to have an orderly looking after them.

  It was nearly two weeks since the Independence Day celebrations. Each day had been more tiresome than the one before. The men were itching to leave the encampment behind and chafed at the delay, becoming worse-tempered by the hour. There had been at least half a dozen fist fights, as frustration boiled over into violence. But there had been no confrontation between Jack and Captain Rowell. If Rowell had heard of Elizabeth’s kiss, he had not come to challenge Jack about it. He had kept away from the company almost completely, only turning up for the formal weekly parades in front of the colonel. On those occasions he had not spoken a single word to Jack.

  Jack had found the silence something of a relief. He had resolved to steer clear of both Elizabeth and her maidservant. He understood neither of them and he had no desire to alter that state of mind. He had thrown himself into training the company and making sure they knew their drill as well as they could. It was not the most satisfying work, but it helped keep his mind clear of the two women who had taken it upon themselves to interfere in his life.

  ‘I have the news we have all been waiting for.’ Scanlon could not hide his excitement. The announcement sent a murmur of conversation running through the group of officers, which he immediately quelled by raising a hand. ‘We have orders to march.’

  One of the officers hurrahed. The others quickly picked it up and joined in. Jack looked around him and stayed silent. It was a relief to hear that they would be leaving Emmart’s Farm, but he would not cheer the order that would send the men on their way to battle.

  ‘Quieten down, you damn rascals.’ Scanlon was clearly in good humour, and he laughed as the cheers slowly died out. ‘Now as you know, General McDowell is in command of the forces here around Washington. General Patterson’s force is thirty miles to our north-west in the Shenandoah Valley, near Harper’s Ferry.’ He paused to ensure he had every officer’s attention. ‘We know the enemy has one army opposite us and another one opposite Patterson.’ He scanned the eager faces looking back at him. ‘It has been decided that we will be the army making the attack.’

  Again there was a noisy reaction to the bold announcement, and again Scanlon stopped it quickly by waving his hand. ‘Quieten down, goddam it,’ he snapped with enough force to silence even the noisiest.

  ‘Now listen up. McDowell will lead the attack on Manassas Junction, which we believe is held by some twenty thousand Confederate troops. It is crucial that General Patterson holds the enemy forces in place in the Shenandoah Valley to prevent them from reinforcing Manassas. Once our attack is successful, we will hold the rail junction and gain access to the rebel capital in Richmond. More importantly, we will have shown the South that they do not stand a hope in hell of opposing us. The goddam sechers will give up this nonsense and we can all go home!’

  This time Scanlon let the cheers come. He stood straight and preened as the officers hurrahed and slapped each other on the back.

  ‘We’re not ready.’

  The lone voice could barely be made out above the excited conversations.

  ‘We’re not re
ady.’

  This time Jack shouted the comment loudly enough to be heard. The group of officers stopped cheering and turned to glare at the man who had dared to offer a contrary opinion. Jack stood straight-backed as he felt every face turn towards him. Even such hostility was not enough to stop him from continuing.

  ‘The men are not ready.’ He kept his voice firm. ‘The army has not got enough support, and from what I hear, McDowell doesn’t even have a decent map of the area he wants us to attack.’ He paused and looked around the angry faces. ‘This is not the right decision.’

  The moment he stopped speaking, the other officers reacted with angry jeers and shouted denials.

  ‘Quieten down, quieten down.’ Scanlon hushed them calmly. ‘Lieutenant Lark is right to question this. We’re officers, not sheep.’ He looked around the faces that had turned towards him. ‘I want no man to be fearful of speaking out, even if they are a goddam Limey son of a bitch.’ He chuckled at his own joke. It was enough to make some of the officers laugh, even though most still threw angry looks in Jack’s direction.

  ‘I thank you, Lieutenant, for your forthright opinion. I expect it will surprise you all to know that the general shares your concern.’ Scanlon raised his eyebrows and stared at the more vocal officers. It was enough to quell the last of the disapproving murmurs. ‘McDowell knows we are underprepared. That is why our orders tell us to proceed with caution and to make sure the men do not fire on one another.’ Scanlon smiled. ‘We’re not marching off like fools, Lieutenant Lark. We will proceed slowly and carefully, and with all due care and attention. But I should also tell you that the President himself has approved this plan.’ He spoke as if playing a trump card. ‘There can be no doubting our purpose. We mean to engage the enemy. We march with the aim of seizing a decisive victory.’

  Jack heard the murmur of approval echo through the group of officers. He knew there was no point in saying anything further. The die had been cast. Scanlon looked at him expectantly for several long moments. When it became clear that Jack was staying silent, the colonel looked away and beamed at his officers.