Court sat on the rebels on the morning after they were brought in, there being a judge sent to the city in response to the troubles thereabout. A Protestant jury – no Catholic being able to swear an oath on a King James Bible – heard the evidence of the rogues caught under arms, saw the collection of weaponry, some of it of French manufacture, taken from them, brought in an instant verdict of guilty on the charges of murder and treason laid against each man. The judge sentenced all to death, was narrowly dissuaded by his clerk from demanding hanging, drawing and quartering, would certainly have done so had he not been shown specific reference to its abolition as a punishment.
All thirty six hanged three days after reaching Cork – there was gaol fever in the prison and a greater delay could have allowed some to cheat the gallows by dying by private enterprise. The state took its dues at nine o’clock of a wet morning, turning them off publicly in sixes to the loud cheering of a crowd which was by no means all Protestant. The experience of the people of Cork was that back-country risings always failed, merely served to interfere with trade and put taxes up, and they wanted no truck with amateur revolutionaries, though they were not necessarily averse, in the privacy of their own minds, to throwing the English invaders back to where they belonged, but done properly and efficiently.
Septimus played his part in the guard and watched the hangings, the first official executions he had ever seen, his father not having permitted him to attend outside the Castle in Winchester. At least five of the hanged were younger than him, he was sure, and he was certainly glad to be on the right side of that transaction – he had no intention of dying yet. He mused over his first experience of real fighting, of actually risking his life, decided that it was exhilarating, not so much the actual battle as the sensation of winning, of being the better man, of coming out on top. Yes, he might have been killed, but he might be thrown from his horse or fall downstairs, and everybody had to die one day, and it was more fun than sitting on a stool in an office.
He wandered down the street, guard duty over and his men dismissed to Mockford’s care to return to the barracks, wondering vaguely what to do with the day. He had money in his pocket - he hardly drank now, gambled only the shillings of the whist table, and lost very few of those in any case, he had discovered a feeling for the cards and was a good player, expected to be very good, one day – and he did not know what to do with it. His Mess Bill amounted to no more than his few shillings of pay and another twenty pounds a quarter, ensigns being mulcted very lightly, which he had offered the adjutant in advance, after some very direct hints, and he paid Cooper five shillings a week for his services, and that left him with twenty five pounds clear in his pocket.
The streets were full of peasants, turned away to the town, whole families drifting together, hungry and roofless, many begging hopelessly. A recruiting party of New Foresters was marching the streets, banging on a drum, two of the Irish soldiers calling out to the young men in their own language; no few of the men came to speak to them, most of these going back to the barracks as volunteers and reappearing an hour later, under escort, to hand bounty money across to weeping mothers and sisters. Ten guineas could keep a family for at least three months or could pay for passage to England or America for those who would go. A girl of about his own age held her hand out; washed and fed she would be handsome, he thought.
“A penny, sir, for the little ones?”
“Half a guinea, if you come with me,” he replied.
She had refused offers of sixpence or a shilling in the last four days, but she had not eaten in twenty four hours and nor had her younger brothers and sisters or her parents. She knew there was no alternative except starvation for her, or for the younger girls if she did not act; one man had already offered to buy her ten year old sister, to take her off and ‘find a place for her’.
“I’ll come, sir. Can I give me mam the money first? The little ones are awful hungry, sir.”
He handed over ten shilling pieces and six pennies; he had several half-guineas in his pocket but knew that a peasant offering to pay with gold would be taken up as a thief.
Where to take her?
Cooper appeared; he had watched the hangings, had seen his young master drift away and then stop.
“Two guineas a month, sir, at the Crown Inn, sir, rooms and meals and no questions asked. I’ll see the landlord, sir?”
“Please, Cooper.”
He watched as the girl went across to her parents, saw her father turn away in shame, in tears at his failure to provide and protect her. Her mother slapped her face, spoke bitter words in the Irish, but she took the money even so.
They walked slowly down the street, following Cooper; Septimus stopped at a pie shop, let the girl purchase and eat ravenously.
“What’s your name?”
“Mary, sir.”
Every eldest daughter in Catholic Ireland had to be a Mary, Septimus reflected, leading her to the Crown where Cooper waited at a back door, guiding them up a flight of stairs and along a passage to a pair of rooms. There was hot water and soap in a small washing place off the bedroom.
“I knows a place what runs clothes up, sir. Down the street.”
“Thank you, Cooper. Take her there tomorrow.”
“Yes, sir!” Cooper was all smiles.
Septimus realised, slowly, that Cooper must take a percentage on all of these deals, that every errand must earn him a few pence. Why not? Cooper’s profits seemed to cost him very little.
Mary was young, unexperienced, modest and thoroughly unhappy; she did not want to become a whore. Septimus was young and of very limited experience; she possessed all he wanted access to. She did not weep till after he had gone; he entered the Mess grinning happily that evening.
The rest of autumn and the cold winter that followed passed very pleasantly for Septimus. A complaisant woman who he could visit most days and spend two or three nights a week with was a source of physical content; garrison routine as a respected soldier rather than a fumbling, cautious boy was actually enjoyable. It was satisfying to be something more than his father’s son, to be a man of his own making, in his own right, and to be recognised as such by other men who he in turn had a value for.
The few patrols of winter were short and uneventful – evidently the bitter wet gales of winter discouraged revolutionaries as well as soldiers, fighting was not a pastime for the cold months. The main activity of the winter centred round a reorganisation of the battalion structure to the new system of platoons, the companies now having eight platoons, each with a corporal, as opposed to the old three or four sections. It was necessary to balance the platoons carefully, ensuring there was a mixture of old and new men in each, and four more corporals had to be identified, and the parade order had to be modified. It added a little interest, gave something to talk about.
Early in March Colonel Allington called Septimus to formal interview at his desk. The colonel was greying fast, walked a little less freely, the western damps unkind to his rheumatics, but he was wholly alert and even more committed to the battalion where he lived and had his being.
“Ensign Pearce! Good morning to you, sir!”
Septimus was bareheaded, could not salute, stood to attention in response.
“You have been nearly one year with us, Mr Pearce, and in that time you have done very well. You are always smart and very well turned-out and you are conscientious in your attention to duty. You have seen action and behaved in a way that brought credit to you, and to your company and the New Foresters as a whole. You have become a soldier and a man, sir, and I am very pleased that you chose to join us.”
Septimus was still boy enough to flush bright scarlet as he became aware for the first time how proud he was to be a New Forester, and how lucky he was to have been pushed to join the battalion. He had never before put his rudimentary realisation into words, knew clearly now that soldiering was the best possible life for him and that, one day, perhaps, he would sit in Allington’s chair, and be
very glad indeed to do so.
“I wrote your father nearly two months since to tell him of your progress and success as one of the best of the young men here, and to suggest that you were ready to take the responsibilities of a lieutenant. I told him, as well, that the battalion would be very pleased if he bought your commission in the New Foresters. The papers reached me yesterday. I have pleasure in naming you Lieutenant Pearce. You will remain in C Company, if you please, to continue your excellent work there. War is coming, Mr Pearce, the French are stirring again, and I have every hope that we will be busy!”
Septimus sought out Howton, gave him the news and his thanks. An ensign was always free to buy his next step after a year or two of service, but his battalion was equally free to ensure that he took his lieutenancy elsewhere; it was a compliment to be asked to take his commission in the battalion before a full year was up.
“Uniform, Septimus! You have grown over the past year and need to refurbish. You could simply change the marks of rank, but it might be better to go home on furlough and visit your own tailor and re-equip yourself. I shall speak with the colonel.”
The conversation was brief and even Septimus suspected it was prearranged.
“Two months furlough, Septimus, reporting back on the tenth of May. I would suggest that you take passage to Bristol on Thursday’s mail packet. Take Cooper and your horse and mule, hiring a job-horse in Bristol for him. You could be in Winchester by Monday at latest, the evening before if Sunday travel is no problem to you.”
Septimus replied to the effect that he was not an old maid, had better things to worry about than breaking the Sabbath.
“Cooper!”
His batman appeared and offered polite congratulations on his advance in rank, no doubt having been aware of it before even the colonel had known.
“Leave, Cooper. We shall be two months in Winchester at my father’s house at Oliver’s Battery. Thursday’s mail run to Bristol, we’ll hire you a horse there – you can ride, can’t you?”
“Yes, sir.” Cooper risked a grin; he was to be taken along, and that made him a retainer, to be batman for the whole of Septimus’ service and to remain with him as valet or personal groom when he sent his papers in. He had a place for life now, and most old soldiers had no life at all to look forward to, there being neither pension nor the opportunity to save in the ranks, the gutter the only prospect if there was no family.
“Good! Make the arrangements, if you please.”
Cooper marched off to set all in hand, and earn his own mark-up – a very few pennies, enough for a wet, there was no need to build a nest-egg any more.
Septimus’ promotion was celebrated in the Mess that night, the socialisers displaying a decent courtesy, the ensigns who had been senior to him telling themselves that it did not matter that he had been invited to step up into the ranks of the full officers while they had not and, in any case, the younger men and the boys were now somewhat in awe of him. The professionals welcomed him unreservedly into their coterie. He woke up on Wednesday morning a very sad, frail figure; he ate breakfast, but only to show that he could, a matter of pride – the noise of crunching toast and bacon and rattling tea cups was hard, hard to bear. He had never had a real, blinding hangover before, had felt a little unwell occasionally, but never the sheer pain in his head and whole body; there would inevitably be a few more in his future he realised, there would be celebrations which he would be unable to avoid – but not many. Kincaid looked at him, laughed and suggested a hair of the dog as a pick-me-up; Septimus almost vomited.
He visited Mary in the early evening, took his pleasure of her, then told her that he was off on leave. He put five guineas in her hand, informed her the rooms were hers until the end of the month; after that she should find another protector, there were plenty about. He believed he had not been ungenerous to her – she had half a dozen dresses of her own, shoes, stockings and underthings besides. She might have saved a few shillings from the present he had given her each week, could live a couple of months on the money he had just handed over, and her family, the brothers and sisters, were her problem, no business of his.
The tide served at eight o’clock next morning and the fast topsail schooner cast off into the rain and blustery wind. There were no other passengers, most people preferring to travel overland to Dublin and take the much shorter sea passage there, so Septimus had his cabin to himself for the two nights of the voyage. Horse and mule were stalled in the hold, well separate from the sides of beef and cheeses; the mails of the Post Office contract, the mainstay of the route, were stored in their own strongroom under lock and key. The trip east was always fast, the prevailing winds ideal, but even westward they would expect to be no more than four days at sea, the schooner being one of the most weatherly afloat, built for the specific purpose.
“No guns, sir?” Septimus asked the master, sharing his Spartan dinner table and mildly surprised.
“None, lieutenant. No use for them. No single man o’ war or private ship will ever catch my Western Lady – ‘twould take a pair in pursuit and another sat to leeward where I had to run, to take I, and I ain’t in the business of fighting three or more of sloops or frigates, sir. They all knows that, and they knows that the mails will all be over the side long afore they catches I, and it ain’t worth the effort for a bit of beef and a couple of ton of cheese. In the last war I did see a Frog frigate the once and an American privateer twice, and they tipped their ‘ats to I and I waved to them and us passed each other by peaceable-like, the way sensible men should.”
It seemed a strange way of doing things to Septimus, not necessarily wrong, but certainly peculiar.
Blessed with a strong stomach, Septimus ate his meals - bread, cheese and cold beef washed down with porter - walked the deck, survived the boredom of passage on a small ship. They entered Bristol soon after dawn on the Saturday, tied up at the stone quay and led the horse and mule ashore, both animals relieved to be back on land and released from the close confinement of the hold and its strange smells and unpleasant motion. Septimus’ hunter, a well-looking, ill-tempered beast, was particularly irritable while the pack mule nuzzled Cooper with a gentle affection out of character in such reputedly cross-grained animals. They breakfasted and then hired a horse for Cooper at a livery stable, the name of Pearce of Winchester well known in Bristol’s merchant community and sufficient guarantee for the stables. They took the Bath road out of town, making fair time on the highway before having to turn south across the Plain to Devizes where they overnighted; the tracks across the chalk were reasonably firm and it was possible to keep at least to a fast walk even on the worst sections. The long, low, bulk of the cathedral hauled into sight on Sunday afternoon and they circled the city to come into Oliver’s Battery off of the Romsey road, keeping to the higher, drier ground.
Septimus dismounted nervously outside his father’s house, uncertain of the welcome he would receive, wondering if he might not have been better advised to have sent a letter first to request permission to return rather than turn up out of the blue, as it were, imposing upon them. His father, all smiles, opened the door in person before he could reach the knocker, grasped his hand, clapped him on the shoulder and bade him welcome.
“Come in, come inside, my boy! Is this your man? Do you take the animals to the yard, if you please, and we will see to a room for you in the quarters. How long do you stay, Septimus? Your colonel has twice written to me, once to tell me of your good conduct in action, a second time to beg me to purchase your commission in his battalion, your behaviour pleasing him so greatly!”
Septimus’ quiet, faded mother appeared at this point, surprised him with a rare embrace – she was not one generally for promiscuous kisses and hugs.
The first hustle and bustle over and he was sat down with a cup of tea, having refused anything stronger at this time of day, to the pleasure of both parents.
“You have grown at least an inch taller, Septimus, and must be three stone heavier – bo
ne and muscle, too. The life must suit you, my boy?”
“It does indeed, sir. You did me the best of good turns when you put me into the regiment, father, little though I realised it at the time. Soldiering is right for me, sir, or I am right for soldiering, perhaps – now that I know it, I would not be anything else, sir. And let me say, too, sir, that I know just how lucky I am – many and many a father would have disowned a ne’er-do-well such as I was. I owe you an apology, sir, and my brother, too, for what I was and did.”
His father would have none of it, waved a dismissive hand – ‘boys would be boys’, but was in no way displeased, nonetheless.
“You will find your allowance is now three hundreds a year, Septimus, since a lieutenant, as I understand matters, has a greater role to play in the Mess. You must visit Stainer tomorrow – you must be properly outfitted in your rank – I will see to that. Trade has been excellent this year and the whole family will share in its benison. Now then, have you a sporting gun? You should have, I believe. Let us also visit Wheatley.”
This was the cue for Septimus to fetch the French fusil taken the previous year and brought along by Cooper, fire-blackened ramrod and all. Mr Pearce was in ecstasies, would have it on the mantel over the fire in the dining room where the merchants of the town might see and speak of it when they ate with him.
‘Taken by my son, as an ensign of the New Foresters, little more than a boy, his first fight…’
It would be something to boast about, they would all envy him, and would all recognise that he, and his firm, was going up in the world.
Septimus enjoyed a slow, relaxing furlough, discovering that an adult visiting his parents was a very different person to a younger son living at home. For the first time he was able to talk equally to his much older brother and to visit his sisters in their houses with a feeling of comfort. He thought of looking up some of his friends of the year before, but boozing in the local pubs and then rolling along, half-drunk, to Mrs Ford’s no longer seemed like high adventure; he gave their company a miss.
The Soldier Brat (Man of Conflict Series, Book 1) Page 7