Rowell controlled himself with obvious difficulty. He stepped away from Jack. ‘This isn’t finished,’ he hissed.
‘Now, Captain!’ roared Bridges.
It was the first time Jack had seen the major angry. The sight was enough to silence Rowell, who finally moved away and began to stalk up the side of the column. He did not look back.
‘You should be fighting the Southrons, not each other.’ Bridges glared at Jack as he came to stand at his side.
‘Tell that prick.’
Bridges shot him a look. ‘That is enough, Lieutenant. There will be fighting aplenty soon enough.’ He glanced over Jack’s shoulder. The column was shuffling back into motion. ‘I told you there would be trouble.’ He spoke softly so that only Jack could hear him.
Jack sighed. His anger was spent. ‘You were right.’ He looked ruefully at the major. ‘Well done.’
Bridges shook his head. ‘I take no pleasure from this, believe me.’ He turned to look at the column. The rear ranks of A Company were already filing past and the head of the next company was coming up. ‘You had better get back to your place.’ He reached out and clasped a hand to Jack’s shoulder. ‘I’ll talk to Rowell when we stop for the day. See if I can calm him down.’
Jack bit back a retort. He hoped Bridges would be successful. Going into battle was daunting enough. Going into battle under the command of a man who hated him was a sure way to find a shallow grave, and he had no desire to die. He would not give Rowell that satisfaction.
Jack sat on the sun-baked ground and stretched his legs out in front of him before leaning forward and attempting to knead away the pain in his left calf. It hurt like a devil and he knew it would likely seize up overnight so that in the morning he would be limping like an old man.
The second day of marching had been even harder than the first. The company had lost another four men to sunstroke or sheer exhaustion, and although some had already returned to the ranks, it did not bode well that they were not strong enough to stand up to the easy pace. The day had finished with the bulk of McDowell’s army around three miles away from the enemy. Or at least where Colonel Scanlon claimed the enemy would be. The men had not cared much either way. They had used up all their rations and faced a hungry day when they resumed the march in the morning. There was no sign of any resupply and Jack had heard them grumbling and grousing as they made camp for the night. His own supper had consisted of a lump of hardtack that he was dunking into a mug of watery coffee in the hope that it would soften enough for him to be able to eat it.
‘You care to share some of that? It looks delicious.’
Jack looked up and smiled as Robert flopped to the ground at his side. ‘You really want some?’
Robert pulled a face. ‘No.’ He removed his kepi and tossed it into the dust next to his hip. ‘I think I’m a broken man.’
‘You were that already.’ Jack found some energy to tease.
‘Lordy, listen to you. When will you give up being such a viperous son of a bitch?’
‘The day they dig a hole and throw me in it.’ Jack grimaced as Robert’s words struck home. They echoed what Rowell had said the previous day. Jack did not know when he had become such a grumbling curmudgeon. Perhaps he was just getting old.
‘This came for you today.’ Robert fished into his jacket and pulled out an envelope that he tossed onto Jack’s lap. ‘From Elizabeth.’
Jack frowned. He opened the thick envelope and pulled out its contents. The sight of his own grimacing face greeted him. The photograph was a good one, as far as he could tell. It had captured Elizabeth brilliantly. Even in the grainy black-and-white image she looked like an angel. If he did not know better, he would say it showed a young officer and his beautiful girl. It had captured a life that was not his.
‘What a handsome couple.’ Robert eased onto one buttock so he could peer at the photograph. ‘I wouldn’t let Rowell see it if I were you.’
‘No.’ Jack took one last look at the image, then slipped it into his jacket pocket. Yet it had set in motion a train of thought that he found disturbing, and he felt a sense of longing so profound that he shuddered.
‘You all right?’ Robert was astute enough for once to notice Jack’s reaction.
‘Yes. It’s a good photograph.’
‘My sister is a rare beauty.’
Jack looked up sharply. There was something being unsaid. ‘But?’
Robert offered a half-smile at Jack’s prompting. ‘I don’t understand her any more than you do, Jack. You’ll get no revelations from me.’
Jack grunted. He could only agree with Robert. He didn’t understand Elizabeth at all. There was more to her than just her beauty, but quite what that was, he didn’t know. She was beguiling, fascinating even. But she was not straightforward. Not like Rose. He could not help smiling as his thoughts turned to Elizabeth’s maid. There were no shades of grey around Rose. He found that almost as appealing as Elizabeth’s beauty.
‘Have you heard the news?’ Robert broke the silence.
‘What’s that then?’ Jack shook away all thoughts of the women. Neither was his to worry about. That fact was some comfort.
‘The President has called for five hundred thousand more men to be recruited.’
Jack raised an eyebrow. ‘I’m not the only one who thinks this war will go on for a bit, then.’
‘No. It would appear not.’ Robert seemed unconcerned at the notion. ‘So what does tomorrow hold in store for us? Another aimless ramble?’
Jack shook his head. ‘You really should think about attending Scanlon’s briefings.’
‘I was busy.’ Robert’s reply was breezy.
‘Doing what?’ Jack’s was sharp.
‘Looking after my affairs.’ He glanced at Jack to see how he was reacting. Whatever he saw reflected in Jack’s stare was enough to make him lower his gaze. ‘I was asleep.’
Jack was about to snap at such a lame excuse, but he managed to hold his tongue. The confrontation with Rowell was still fresh in his mind. He was not overburdened with companions. Driving Robert away would not help.
‘Tomorrow we push on to some place called Centreville, then on to the Bull Run river. Our division is in the lead.’
‘I expect old Tyler must be pleased. He hoped for this opportunity.’
Jack could not help smiling at the familiarity with which Robert spoke of the commander of their division. ‘Let me guess. He’s a friend of your father.’
Robert grinned back. ‘Of course.’
‘Who isn’t?’
‘No one worth knowing.’ Robert laughed at his own pompous reply. ‘But Tyler’s a good man. Do you know what his orders are?’
‘They’re pretty clear, according to the colonel. We’re to observe the roads to Bull Run and Warrenton. McDowell wants the enemy to think we are advancing on Manassas, but he really wants to turn their right flank.’
‘That all sounds very military.’ Robert was jocular as he listened to the plan that had been sketched out at the officers’ briefing he had not bothered to attend.
Jack could not help laughing at his friend’s tone. ‘I just hope McDowell knows what he is about.’ The plan, as he had heard it, made sense. He had known generals whose only thought was to throw their troops at the heart of the enemy position and hope they won the day. The notion of a flank attack sounded as if McDowell was at least thinking strategically. If the Union troops could turn the enemy’s right, it would open up the way to the vital train junction at Manassas.
‘So battle really is coming?’ Robert sounded anxious.
‘This rail junction at Manassas is a strategic objective. The enemy are there in strength and I doubt they plan to give it up without a fight. Scanlon said the 3rd Division under Colonel Heintzelman is going to march to the east and turn the enemy line, then
drive in behind the Orange and Alexandria Railroad. If that works, he’ll be attacking from a direction the enemy does not expect. That gives him, and us, the advantage.’ Jack paused and looked straight at Robert. ‘So yes. That means there’ll be a battle.’
Robert gazed back at him with eyes full of fear.
‘Come on. Let’s join the men.’ Jack reached out and clapped the younger man on the shoulder before getting to his feet and brushing the dirt off his backside.
Robert hadn’t moved. He sat and stared into space. Jack held out a hand and Robert glanced up. He tried to smile but just managed to look sickly. Still, he took Jack’s hand and let himself be hauled to his feet, and together the two officers walked towards one of the large brushwood fires the men had got going to keep them warm through the night.
‘Good evening, sirs.’ First Sergeant O’Connell saw them approach and greeted them warmly. ‘Care to sit with us for a while?’
‘Thank you.’ Jack answered for them both. ‘That would be kind.’
With Robert at his side, he found a space for them to sit. The heat of the fire felt unpleasant on his face after the day spent suffering in the humidity. But the smoke would keep the worst of the biting insects away, and for that alone, Jack was happy enough to sit in a pool of his own sweat.
‘What are you doing there, Malloy?’ He addressed one of O’Dowd’s Irish cronies. The man was writing something on a scrap of paper, his tongue held tight between his teeth as he formed one deliberate letter after another.
‘Writing my name, sir.’
‘Why are you doing that?’
‘The others all did it.’ Malloy looked at his officer, then licked his lips with nervousness. ‘I figured I should do it too.’
‘Why?’ Jack’s patience was being stretched.
‘We sew them in our jackets, so we do. So they know who we are, you know, if the worst happens.’ Malloy’s eyes flicked nervously over Jack’s face, then returned to the piece of paper and the half-formed name.
Jack understood. It was a sobering way for the men to occupy their time. He looked around the campfire. He saw the men’s fear as clearly as he saw their faces in the light of the fire.
‘O’Connell, why don’t you tell us one of your stories?’ He looked to the first sergeant for a diversion. ‘You’re good at them, I’ve heard. I fancy we could all use the distraction.’ The men clearly agreed with his suggestion, a murmur of encouragement rippling around the gathering.
O’Connell smiled as he became the centre of attention. ‘I reckon I could tell you a tale or two. If you’re sure and all?’
The murmurs grew louder and O’Connell did not bother to protest again.
‘You all heard the one about the woman and the horse?’
A few of the men laughed as they recognised the tale. But enough shook their heads or called for it to be told.
‘Well, one time there was this old girl that no one liked. She was a good cook and kept a good house, but her tongue was so damn sharp that no one would marry her.’ O’Connell spoke softly and clearly. A circle of silence surrounded him as even the men who had heard it before listened intently.
‘One man, though, he decided he’d give the old trollop a try. He knew she was still worth having around, in spite of her tongue. So he went and started courting her. Well, finally she said she’d marry him and they got hitched. Now, this fellow had gone to fetch her on a horse. It was a knackered old nag, but it was all he had. They’d bought themselves some rations and he’d bought her a whole heap of shite for their house and had all that tied on behind the saddle. The man got on and pulled his woman behind him and they set off. Well, the old horse didn’t make it more than a mile before it threw ’em both in the dirt. That woman, she didn’t complain. The man got the horse back on its feet, raised its head up by the bridle. He looked that old fecking horse straight in the eye and said, “That’s once.”’
A few of the men, those who knew the old tale, laughed, just as O’Connell intended. Jack knew they were using the story as a balm against their terror at the prospect of finally going to war. As he looked around, he saw that many of the soldiers were little more than boys. He remembered the night before the Alma. He had been a captain then, even if only a counterfeit one. His company would likely have looked no different to this one, yet now he saw the youth of the men about to go into battle. These were not men hardened to war. They were boys who had long dreamed of glory, but who trembled with barely contained fear now that the chance of finding it was near.
O’Connell had paused to let the laughter subside. The only sounds were the crackle of the fire and the murmur of other voices at other fires. He let the men enjoy the moment before he continued.
‘Well, the pair of them got back on that poor old nag and on they went. But the horse gave out again after just another mile. This time they both landed hard. The woman, she got back up, brushed the dirt off her, didn’t complain too much. That fellow, well, he pulled on the reins, got the horse up again and said, “That’s twice!”’ He delivered the line in a loud, stentorian tone that had the men rocking and hooting with glee. This time, even Jack laughed.
‘Well, they’d done another mile when that horse fell again, and this time they all went down like so many sacks of shite. To be fair, that woman, well she didn’t complain and just got to her feet.’ O’Connell picked up the pace of his delivery. ‘The man, he jerked on the bridle of that poor old fecking horse and got it to its feet, then looked right at it and said, “You useless fecker, that’s three times.” Then he pulled out his pistol and bam, shot it right between the eyes.’
The soldiers reacted to the cue. They were engrossed in the tale and they whooped and hollered as O’Connell shouted loudly enough to scare a few of the younger ones. Many of them called out, suggesting what was to happen next. Jack saw that they were diverted, the tale taking their minds off what was ahead. He caught O’Connell’s eye and the first sergeant nodded, acknowledging Jack’s understanding. O’Connell knew what he was doing.
‘The horse fell, and that there woman, she was so surprised she just stood there gaping. Then she caught her breath and started in. “What the feck are you doing?”’ O’Connell mimicked a high-pitched female voice. Even he had to pause to chuckle, whilst the men erupted with peals of laughter. ‘“You dumb gombeen. Now we got to carry all that stuff ourselves. What did you go and shoot him for?”’ He was speaking quickly now, firing the words out. ‘“We could’ve walked and let him take all this stuff. I tell you right now, I’m not going to carry any of that there shite on my back! Shoot him, will you? You’re a fecking eejit.” And on she went, cussing and moaning like you wouldn’t believe.
‘That man, well, he just stood there, let her shake her finger in his face. When she finally shut up, he just looked at her, right straight in the eye.’ O’Connell paused, holding back the last line. The men waited, hushed and expectant. ‘And he said, “That’s once.”’
The men did not try to contain themselves. They clapped their hands and slapped each other on the back as they guffawed.
‘So he shoved all that stuff in a poke he’d brought along, and feck me, didn’t he just make her carry the saddle. She got to their house with a saddle on her back and the reins around her neck. Yeah, he had her saddled and bridled. He tamed her, all right.’
The men roared as O’Connell finished his tale in fine style, but Jack heard the desperation behind the merriment. He had seen it before. Men laughed the night before battle lest they weep with fear. The men of A Company were no different. They faked their delight as well as any.
‘Why, we should do that with Johnny Reb!’ shouted one of the soldiers.
‘What say you to that, Lieutenant?’ O’Connell asked Jack. ‘You think we can tame the Confederates as easy as that fellow tamed that woman?’
Jack felt the attention shift onto h
im. Everyone went quiet. He could not help feeling uncomfortable as he became the centre of attention. O’Connell had done a fine job of distracting the men, but there were other things they needed to hear.
‘In India, we all thought it would be easy. The native troops had mutinied against us. It was a nasty business, about as bad as things can get. Well, some said they couldn’t fight without their officers. They said it would be easy to defeat them.’ Jack looked around. Every face was turned his way. The firelight flickered across their features, their expressions hidden in the half-light. ‘It wasn’t so easy. Those native troops, they were brave men, just like us. They fought hard.’
He looked up at the night sky. He knew he was no good at telling tales, especially not ones that would assuage the men’s fear. The stars twinkled down at him. They were serene and undisturbed by the struggles of man. They didn’t care about states that wanted to self-govern, or the rights of black men and women to live free. He felt his determination harden. The men had to know.
‘I reckon this Johnny Reb you all keep talking about isn’t so different to any of us. If you ask me, I think he’ll be sitting round a campfire just like this one, and him and his mates will be bragging about how us Union boys will skedaddle just as soon as we clap eyes on them.’ He offered a thin-lipped smile as he used one of the men’s favourite words.
He could feel their fear then. It was as if a cold breeze had just blown across the encampment. He sighed. ‘But they won’t have been trained like you’ve been trained.’ He smiled. It was time to ease the men’s fears, not add to them. ‘Just do what you have been taught and you’ll be fine. Shoot low, keep together and listen to your officers and your sergeants. Do what you are told without question. When we fight, give it everything. Don’t dance with them. When the time comes, you put that man down. Kill him before he kills you.’
For the first time, he noticed that Major Bridges was standing on the far side of the campfire, watching as Jack imparted his final advice. He looked at Jack as he finished, and held his gaze. Then he nodded and turned to walk back into the darkness.
The True Soldier: Jack Lark 6 Page 25