An army lieutenant stood on the quay, with a sergeant’s guard at his side.
“Can you put us alongside, by the officer, sailor?”
“Right there, soldier!”
Tide served to bring the deck of the little trader conveniently level with the wharf and Billy stepped ashore and saluted.
“Brigadier’s compliments, sir, and we are to land and secure the harbour. Brigadier and remainder of the regiment are in the other ships, sir. Please to assist us in landing the guns, sir.”
The lieutenant did not know what to do for the best, ended up by simply ordering his sergeant to bring the men to the aid of the Fencibles. He had been ordered to hold the harbour and had been informed that there might be reinforcements coming to their assistance, but he had certainly been told nothing of a brigadier.
The guns came ashore and were run by hand along the quay to make a first protection on the edge of the tiny town. The Fencibles trotted about their duty, Corporals O’Mara and Gloag heading into the town while Nankivell and Archer remained with their platoons under Billy’s immediate eye.
An hour and Gloag’s runner came in with the message that there was a single track leading up into the hills, fit perhaps for donkey traffic, too steep probably for horses.
The powder and ball for the four-pounders was brought ashore and the trader shifted away from the quay and anchored in the harbour, allowing the larger vessels to follow each other in to offload their men.
Billy kept Ensign Farthing informed of all that was happening and led him to the edge of the town where O’Mara had discovered a couple of sheds close to the road, sufficient just to keep the men in the shade at midday and under a roof to sleep the night.
“Track, sir, just in sight across to the right, sir, leading through them coconuts, look, and up towards the hills. Might be wise to send a platoon up to the top, sir, to see what’s happening. The guns are here to cover the road, sir.”
Farthing agreed that they should gain information about the lie of the land, and if possible of the location of the French.
“Can’t hear any gunfire, Sergeant Bacon. Either they have no cannon, or the field is distant from here.”
“Or the fighting has stopped, sir. I expect the lieutenant would have been told if there had been a victory, sir.”
Ensign Farthing contemplated the horrible alternative.
“The rest of the battalion is landing now I expect, Sergeant Bacon. The guns will be covered by them within minutes. Send a runner to tell Brigadier Searson that I have advanced up the track with the whole company, that we intend to take the hills above the town to ensure there can be no flanking move against us.”
“Yes, sir. Corporal Gloag, send Jimbo to me. He is to take a message to the Brigadier.”
Billy Bacon and the Soldier Slaves
Chapter Seven
“Company to march to the track, sir?”
“Yes, Sergeant Bacon. Give the orders, please.”
Five minutes sufficed to put the four platoons into order and start them around the outskirts of the small town. It was still early, the sun not too high, very tempting to order the men to double. They would pay for it later if he did, Billy knew.
Ten minutes to make the half mile across the dry land behind the last of the huts. Poor soil, Billy surmised, for there were no gardens, no signs of goat droppings even on the thin, straggly clumps of brown grass. Possibly there was no rainfall on this side of the hills – it happened, he knew, where the wind blew off the sea, lush on one side, dry on the other; he had seen it in India.
“Ten minutes! No fires.”
They could take a break for tea later, when they had reached a safer place towards the top.
“Corporal Gloag, your platoon to lead the way up the track. Eye out for anything out of the ordinary. Corporal O’Mara, you to take the rear, Corporal Nankivell, behind Corporal Gloag; Corporal Archer, third in line. Swap round after half an hour, second to the front, third to the rear. With your permission, that is, sir.”
Ensign Farthing agreed that the dispositions suited him.
“Should not I take the lead with Corporal Gloag, Sergeant Bacon? I do not like to be lagging behind, you know.”
“Not this time, sir. Watch, sir, and take the lead next time. Corporal Gloag knows exactly what he is about, and Corporal O’Mara is a bright lad.”
“And I am no more than a boy, despite my uniform, Sergeant Bacon?”
Billy was not wholly displeased to be challenged; the boy wanted to be a man.
“To an extent, yes, sir. Mostly, sir, this is your first campaign, your first opportunity to watch and learn. Was Captain Higgins with us, I would ask him to stand just where you are now, sir. Not from any malice, sir, but because an officer has so much to learn; it is only fair to give him the chance. If you order it so, sir, then you may stand first in the line – your orders will always be obeyed, sir. But I would prefer it if you did not. As well, sir, one word from you and I will stand on a charge and would lose my stripes and probably the flesh from my back; I do not wish to be insubordinate, sir, when I say that there is much you have to learn still. I would not say that to all officers, I assure you, and not because they know it already.”
Ensign Farthing was silent for a few seconds weighing up all Billy had said.
“I shall stay where you tell me, Sergeant Bacon. What do you think may happen?”
“I don’t know for sure, sir. But if I was a Frog – which I am glad I ain’t – then if I knew there was a track leading across the hills behind me, I would put a picket on it. Not a lot of men, because they can’t have many men to spare on a little island like this, unless they have had reinforcements too. But enough to give the alarm. Corporal Gloag is a bright man; so is O’Mara. They may see Frogs in time for us to get round them and stick them quietly, with no alarm raised.”
“O’Mara is to the rear, Sergeant Bacon.”
“Might be a Frog or two in the harbour, sir, what would have it in mind to send a message to their folk and might come up this way.”
“How far will we march, Sergeant Bacon?”
“To the top of this first rise, sir, at least. Then we stop and have a look about for water. If we see green not too far distant, then you may think it right for us to go further. If not, I shall recommend that we hold the hill safe.”
Ensign Farthing stared up the track, zig-zagging up the steep but low hill. There was no cover on the hillside, nothing other than sparse grasses, just like the flat they had crossed.
“If they put a gun up there, we would never be able to climb up, would we, Sergeant Bacon?”
“No, sir. Even one of our little galloper guns could forbid the track.”
“So, we must hold the hill, to keep the Frogs off our backs in the harbour.”
They marched, rapidly breaking into loose order, the going too steep to maintain a close formation.
The hill was no more than three hundred feet high, at a guess, but it rose that height in a bare half of a mile, punishing on the legs of men carrying their sixty pounds on their backs and a musket in their hands.
They took twenty minutes, slowing as Corporal Gloag crept up to the crest and peered over, hat off. He half-turned and beckoned, still holding in cover.
“Up we go, sir.”
Billy raised a run – he had to show the men that he was better than them, harder, stronger, could keep going longer. They might be glad of the rest, but their sergeant did not need it. Ensign Farthing realised that he must show an example as well, if the men were to begin to show him respect.
“Hat off, sir.”
They crawled to the crest line and peered over.
The hill became almost flat, a plateau perhaps a mile across, another drop in the distance, how deep they could not tell. There was a covering of scrub, starting a furlong distant and seeming to grow taller, to become low trees in the distance; there must be rain up here, for some part of the year at least. Just inside the line of scrub they could see
a rough-built hut, little more than a roof on posts to provide shade, not big enough to shelter more than two or three men.
“I think I saw two men, sir. Sitting down. I think they have a small cooking fire, sir – wouldn’t want a big one in this heat. Got their mind on what they’re having to eat, sir. In the wrong place for a proper lookout, sir. If they was doing it right, they’d be here where they could see into the harbour.”
“So… not an observation post. Just a block on the track, Corporal Gloag?”
Billy stayed silent; the boy was saying the right words.
“We can’t get around them unseen. No cover for us to hide in. Can’t shoot them at that range. Not much chance of hitting them both if we fired a volley from the whole company.”
“We could wait till dark, sir. Be easy enough to take them then. But it might be better to put the whole company into a line, sir, here in cover and then all of us appear at once and start towards them. If they are real soldiers, they’ll take one look and run. If they’re no more than local militia, there’s a chance they’ll put their hands up instead. If we are lucky, sir, we take them and get a look at the Frogs all unknown.”
“And if we are unlucky, we lose very little, because they will see the guns and the rest of the battalion soon enough in any case.”
“Exactly so, sir.”
“Good, set the company into a line, Sergeant Bacon.”
Ten minutes to place themselves and then a slow and careful advance to the edge of the plateau, the redcoats appearing almost together in a rank stretching out over nearly one hundred yards, the front of an extended battalion, a brigade even.
The two Frenchmen rose and grabbed their blue coats – it was wiser to be in uniform rather than seem to be an armed civilian. They picked up muskets and stood, wavering, alone, no sergeant or officer to tell them what to do. The long line of redcoats marched slowly towards them, muskets held at the port, across their chests. They had a choice, run or surrender, and they had to make that decision very quickly. All very well to run, but what if some of those rosbifs ran faster? One of them said something and they both very carefully laid their muskets down and then stood, displaying their empty hands, very quietly so that they should not be seeming to raise the alarm.
“Corporal Gloag, take them to the rear, three of your men to hold them safe. Do not harm them. With your permission, sir?”
“Certainly, Sergeant Bacon. They must not come to harm, Corporal Gloag.”
“Yes, sir.”
Gloag named off three of his platoon to escort the French prisoners to the rear.
“Take their muskets as well, Corporal Gloag.”
Gloag had heard Billy’s promise to the sailor who had put them ashore, nodded his understanding.
“Corporal Gloag, the remainder of your platoon with Ensign Farthing and me along the track. Corporal O’Mara, hold here, use their fire for a brew-up.”
Ensign Farthing did not understand the last order.
“The men like their tea, sir. Each platoon will have a stock of leaves. The French know they have men here, sir, so the smoke of a fire will cause no alarm. Besides that, sir, the Frogs will probably have a water barrel here, which will be safe to use if the men boil the water for tea.”
“Oh! That is clever, Sergeant Bacon. Such a small thing but thought over.”
“Beg pardon, sir, but it ain’t small – the men really like their tea, it is important to them. It shows them that you are thinking about them, sir.”
The boy fell silent, thinking about that point, concluding that if Bacon was right, and he seemed to be about most things, then acting as nursemaid to the men was as important as being brave in battle. The story books seemed to say nothing about that part of military life.
They walked slowly along a track through the brush, welcoming the shade as the trees grew larger, peering around each turn in the path for fear of walking into a French encampment. Half a mile, perhaps a little less, Billy estimated, and the narrow track, now passing through true rain forest, showed a downward slope.
“Permission to take my coat off, sir. The scarlet shows up something awful in this green and black forest. I think there might be a bit of a valley or an open hillside not so far ahead. Best I should venture out there and take a quick look, sir, but not in my coat.”
“I shall come too.”
Farthing removed his coat, handing it over to Corporal Gloag, who immediately put it in the hands of one of his men; corporals did not act as valets.
The trees rose to fifty or sixty feet, different species but similar in type to those Billy had seen overseas; they were surrounded by low, thick bushes, mostly covered in thorns.
“Keep clear of the bushes, sir. If there’s ants there, then they bite hard; if there ain’t ants, there might be leeches or snakes or spiders – and any of them are nasty. Don’t brush up against ‘em.”
The boy officer took position very carefully in the centre of the path.
“Slowly forward, sir, watching for the trees to thin out. I would have put those two sentries, or whatever they were, within the sound of a musket, sir, if I was doing it. There ought to be a camp or a bigger outpost down along here, sir.”
Ensign Farthing suddenly realised that the sergeant was teaching him, was trying to turn him into a proper officer, and quickly. He was bright enough to ask himself why, and then to wonder what he would have to do if, for example, the Company lost its lieutenant.
“I don’t think Mr Whitaker is very well at the moment, Sergeant Bacon.”
Billy nodded – the boy had caught on, quickly, as well.
“I don’t know that he will live through this campaign, sir. If we are a week or two out in the bush, sir, and the rum runs out…”
“Then I must try to do his duty, Sergeant Bacon, which you are doing just now.”
“I did not hear that, sir.”
“Good! I did not say it.”
They laughed together and then eased slowly forward.
Fifty yards and the track took a marked downturn and they could see across a valley to another, lower hill, again covered in rain forest. The valley was no more than a hundred feet deep, running down towards the coast, a narrow creek in its centre. Perhaps two furlongs down there was a camp with breastworks facing towards the shoreline, which was visible for a couple of miles. The wall, perhaps six feet high, was made of timber, mostly the trunks of coconut palms laid horizontally, three or four wide, stacked on top of each other, heavy rocks at the base to stop them rolling, presumably tied above that. The coastal strip was mostly barren, except where the creek ran, and the road was clearly visible.
“Centre, sir, do you see?”
“A battery, I think. Covered over with some sort of roofing, bracken or some such.”
“Woven palm leaves, sir. If they’ve done them right they’re pretty much waterproof and they keep the sun off, make it feel a bit cooler. I’m almost sure I can see two guns, sir. They could block the road with them. Wouldn’t fancy trying an escalade either, sir – up that bit of a slope in the open and then to climb that wall. Hold the men up just long enough to cut them to ribbons with guns and volleys.”
“Why haven’t the British come round on this track then, Sergeant Bacon?”
“That, sir, is a question I cannot answer. I suspect, sir, that the officer in command of the battalion tried to do the job quickly, by assault. Maybe he died, perhaps he can’t think any further than trying to get past in the night, sir. He could probably push past, a company at a time over a few nights.”
“But that’s…”
“Yes, sir.” Billy interrupted before the ensign could criticise the commanding officer of the original battalion; he might be a fool, but it was better not to say so. “How many men do you count down there, sir?”
“Not a lot… Four sentries, I think, and another set of roofs of those palm leaves, look, over on the right. Thirty men in the shade?”
“Add to that at least one gun’s crew on duty, ju
st in case, sir. Forty?”
“Resting, in the shade, and knowing that not much happened yesterday or the day before, so there ain’t no chance that anything will happen today, Sergeant Bacon. But, by tomorrow, they must find out that we have landed. So… attack immediately, do you think?”
“Yes, sir. Let’s get a look at the path down first.”
They craned their necks and agreed that the path ran through thick bush and cane thickets until a very few yards from the camp. Easy to hide in, difficult to form up for an attack.
“Run the platoons down, close on each other’s heels. Form a line as they come out of the bushes. O’Mara first, and straight towards the guns. Nankivell and Archer to the right, to the sleeping place. Gloag with us, and try to get the sentries. Watch out when we get down for officers, sir. They might have their own separate place what we can’t see.”
“’Which’, Sergeant Bacon – do not let your diction fail you!”
The boy was laughing at him! That at least showed a cool head; Billy risked a grin.
An hour to return, to drink a mug of tea – necessary in the heat – and to outline the plan, then on the move.
“Bayonets, sir?”
“No. Use the butt. Bayonets in your hands close to. Don’t risk slipping with bayonets fixed on that track.”
Billy nodded – the correct answer, or the one he would have given, at least.
The track was damp, greasy underfoot from rain the previous day, or the one before; their clumsy shoes were not best suited to a silent downhill scramble, but they did their best, turning their feet sideways and trying to dig into the mush. They held onto each other, the occasional bold man grabbing at a bush and trying not to swear as the thorns bit. Nearly five slow minutes brought them to the last cover where they waited for the slowest to catch up.
“Got the sentries, Corporal Gloag?”
“I see four, sir.”
Gloag was very good; Billy had asked the question but he answered the officer. He now assigned a sentry to each of four men, telling his others to wait loaded and shoot as necessary.
Billy Bacon and the Soldier Slaves (Colonial Warrior Series, Book 1) Page 15