The Soldier Brat (Man of Conflict Series, Book 1)

by Andrew Wareham

  The news created a panic in the inhabitants – they cared little for Paris and even less for who sat in government, but they had learned much of the guillotine in recent times and respected it greatly. Those who had boats loaded their families aboard, those who did not begged space on a ship; more than one daughter of the families that chose to remain latched onto a likely looking soldier as protector and spouse.

  “So, captain, what good did our raid do?”

  Septimus was back at the rail of the transport, Selsey Bill in sight, their ship in convoy with the rest of the brigade, digesting his dinner and taking his ease.

  “None at all, my boy, in one sense; a lot of harm in another way; in a third some good.”

  Howton, as so often, was in sententious mode.

  “We conquered no land, did little enough harm to the Revolution, so a futile exercise. We forced several hundreds of villagers to flee, turned their lives upside down for no good purpose. The battalion, however, is more efficient, better organised, more able to fight than it was. We know more of using ships than we did, and the men have given the Frogs a bloody nose and know that they will do so again next time.”

  Septimus nodded – he had stood in the line and had seen the value of fast, controlled musketry. Previously he had believed drill with the weapons to be a good thing, now he knew it to be so, and he was a better soldier because of it. He had also seen Smith’s evil, had seen what mankind uncontrolled was capable of, but he had dealt with that too, and was the stronger for it.

  “Importantly, Septimus, is the reaction the French must make. The navy controls the sea, right up to the beaches of France, and can land troops almost anywhere. They will build a battery above the inlet we used this time, and a fort in every port along perhaps a thousand miles of coast, for the Spanish are equally vulnerable – hundreds of cannon, tens of thousands of men.”

  The merchant’s son understood this argument immediately.

  “France is a poorer country than England, with less of iron and foundries, fewer manufacturies by far, and they will have to place a whole army to protect their shores against ships that need never come again but will always be a threat. A few raids like this one will force them to waste treasure and men and gunpowder and cannon that they can ill afford.”

  At Portsmouth they waited, to Allington’s relief as he sent for the officers’ horses to be walked up from Devon. Barracks were found for them in only four days, regarded as high efficiency by the authorities, and in them they sat, waiting orders to march, for they had to go somewhere.

  They remained in their temporary home, speculating furiously, for nearly a month, opened a betting book in the mess: Ireland, Christchurch, India, Upper Canada, the Sugar Islands were equal favourites, Toulon and Port Mahon outsiders and Botany Bay receiving no backers at all.

  “Jamaica, Septimus, the Fever Islands – Parliament wishes to capture the French colonies, sugar estates that may fall into the hands of politicians’ families, sold on by the Crown for tuppence farthing in open, fair auction! We are to go out and take Yellow Jack and cholera, the ague and dengue, not forgetting rum, the other great killer of the tropics. Not less than four years, nor more than seven on that posting. They are rich of course, more than one diamond necklace has fallen into a soldier’s knapsack out there, and promotion comes fast, provided you are not the one to die!”

  Howton laughed, mocking his own prognostications.

  “Convoy assembles this week – the normal thing, nothing for a month and then panic at the last instant. You may take two nights in Winchester, no more! Ride out tomorrow morning, back for dinner on Friday, if you please. You may well wish to leave your horse and mule at Winchester – it is possible to take them with you, but English – or Irish – bred animals rarely thrive in the Sugar Islands, I am told, and there is less need for them there, islands being fairly small in the nature of things.”

  His father had aged, unsurprisingly, he was well past sixty now, and was already of a respectable antiquity – he was portlier, but simultaneously frailer, was balding fast. On the Thursday he called his sons to formal family conference, seizing the opportunity to settle the dynastic affairs of what was now one of the largest firms in the South of England outside of London and Bristol.

  “My sons, my dearly beloved boys, I doubt I shall see you together again, so the matter of the Will arises. I have written it and intend to have it attested this day, if you agree it to be fair, for I wish to leave no dissension behind me, if it can be avoided – I would not see a breach between you! George, the business is, must be, yours – the way we have grown in the last decade has been your doing more than mine – but I intend to leave Septimus a life interest of twenty parts of the income, the profit that is, to revert to the firm on his death. Does that seem fair to you?”

  “It does, sir. What of mother, has she no share?”

  “The income of five thousand pounds, about two hundred a year, is secured to her in the Marriage Settlement, going to the girls a thousand each at her demise. A home I trust she will always have.”

  “She will, sir. Nothing else to the girls?”

  “The monies I have saved in gold, separate to the firm, a few hundreds apiece. It will be welcome, I doubt not.”

  George nodded acceptance; the provision for the girls followed the expected pattern, each having been given a marriage portion that had been thought generous at the time. “It seems good to me, sir. What say you, Septimus?”

  “I think you are being open-handed indeed, brother, for I have done nothing to earn this wealth.”

  “I disagree, sir! When you are captain, and then go further – General Pearce, I expect, at minimum! Then, brother, I shall have no hesitation in being known as your brother, your respectability being worth much to the firm. Already you have been mentioned in the Chronicle –‘Ensign P- of the New Foresters distinguished in a small bickering with disaffected Fenian men in Ireland, a young Hector in Winchester’s midst’. More than one of our customers saw this and commented and was pleased with you, and us. In any case, you are family, you do not have to earn your share, it is yours by right.”

  Septimus subsided – he did not really need to be bullied into accepting a comfortable income for life, but had felt that he must register his caveat, must at least show recognition of George’s generosity.

  “The sum would be not less than one thousand a year, Septimus. Should the eventuality arise while you are overseas would you wish this to be simply added to your allowance?”

  “In place of the allowance, surely, George!”

  “No, the allowance is secured quite separately under the arrangement we first made and which I consider binding upon me – and which is no hardship to me, brother!”

  “Well… I have no need of such a sum while I remain unwed, but there is no need to worry yet, in any case, father will live many years yet I expect.”

  “I am glad you chose not to be a merchant, my brother! I shall invest the money at interest then?”

  “Yes, George. In the firm would be easiest, surely.”

  “No, wiser to keep it clear and safe. My own savings are elsewhere, so that if worst comes to worst I shall have a nest-egg to fall back on. Land, probably, a small farm after a year or two, the rent providing a safe and respectable income. Never you fear, brother, I shall find a home for your money and you shall gain from it.”

  Security in his old age – not a matter of great importance to a nineteen year old; he drew an advance of his year’s allowance in gold and set off to cross the seas, embracing his parents fondly, unaware that he would see neither again. He shook George’s hand formally, smiled embarrassedly at his parting whisper.

  “We are all so proud of you, Septimus! I hoped you had it in you, was almost sure you were too strong simply to become a wastrel! Don’t forget to write home – mother looks forward so much to your letters!”

  Man of Conflict Series

  BOOK ONE

  Chapter Six

  The
smart scarlet had grown into a source of pride to Septimus, the visible statement of the man he had become; now it was also a cause of itchy, sweating agony. The uniform was meant for wear in cold European winters and mild summers – serge coat and woollen breeches, heavy linen shirt and stock, thick stockings inside leather boots, all cut tight to fit elegantly and display a muscled abdomen and well-turned leg – it was less than ideal for the high tropics. Full uniform was worn only for parades, which were held early in the morning, still hotter than bright noon of an English summer’s day with humidity higher than the temperature, even in the dry season, and the crotch a bath of sweat, armpits as bad and feet utterly appalling, and Septimus was better off than most of the officers for Cooper had served in India in his youth and knew all of the tricks of survival in a hot climate.

  Cold water baths at night and morning; clothes changed and washed daily – something alien to English habits, weekly laundry a by no means universal innovation there. Expressed juice of limes and lemons watered down to drink; tea, weak and without milk, in plenty and alcohol forbidden before dinner. Instructions to stay indoors for the half hour either side of sunset, ‘when the airs were dangerous’, and a net to sleep under, ‘protection from the night poisons’. Strict orders on food – little of red meat, plenty of fresh-caught fish and chicken and fruit and vegetables was prescribed. Expensively, basilicum powder was to be dusted over the sweaty parts after bathing, all a deal of fuss and bother, but less than the nagging that would result from a failure to maintain Cooper’s regime.

  In six months of garrison duty Septimus was not taken ill once; he had experienced the fringe of a hurricane and had endured the electrical storms of the early Wet, when for two hours at a time the lightning strokes grounded within half a mile at least once a minute and the roll of thunder was unceasing, had been uncomfortable and frightened, but he had not been sick.

  Every other officer had had an attack of fever, of the shakes and sweats that melted the meat off a man’s bones and left him enfeebled for three months after, provided he lived; a few had had the vomit and watery bowels and had survived, though most who took the dysentery perished. Major Adams, Captain Taylor, three of the lieutenants and Ensign Givens had died, as had one in eight of the men – higher casualties than would be expected of the bloodiest of battles – but the colonel was quite pleased.

  “Most of those who are going to take illness and die do so quickly, gentlemen,” he announced in the Mess. “Captain Howton is breveted major. Lieutenant Masters is senior in the rank and is breveted captain to C Company. I have sent back to Christchurch and we may expect a draft this year.”

  Brevet rank gave the officer who held it the name and pay of the position, but no permanency. If Howton wished to remain major then he must purchase the honour; he had the money – just – and intended to do so. Being an unfashionable regiment, commissions in the New Foresters commanded no premium - it was illegal to pay more than the fixed, official price for a commission, but that law was openly ignored - and Howton would expect to sell his captaincy and pay no more than two thousands in addition to obtain his majority; there might be a delay in the process if no taker for the captain’s commission could be found immediately, but loans could be raised against that eventuality – it was all part of the normal way of things. Masters was poor, however, and would be supplanted by whoever bought the captaincy he temporarily held; for him there was only one hope and that was to distinguish himself in some way so that his brevet might be made permanent in compliment to him. Being in the Sugar Islands he would have at least half a year available to achieve his glory, for takers for the fever stations were relatively few and the vacant commission would remain unsold probably until a young man found it wiser to leave England, to flee his debts or his irate family normally. If his general was well-loved at Horse Guards and the Governor of the colony, being overseas, would also bestir himself, then Masters could slowly climb in rank, but it was a very chancy business.

  The men generally detested officers who could not buy their step in gold – the glory they otherwise needed was commonly bought instead with private soldiers’ lives. Some observers insisted that the common people loved to be led by gentlefolk, but the reality was that they hated to be sacrificed by paupers who would push and prod them into unwise action and bully them the meanwhile to disguise their own uncertainties and insecurity.

  Septimus, who knew that his next purchase was guaranteed, was unmoved either by Masters’ promotion or his plight. He lacked the experience for the battalion to approve of him buying a step in rank for at least a year and, although he was free to purchase into another regiment if he wished, the New Foresters was his home and he preferred to stay and devote the upcoming campaign season to learning more of his trade – it would be good experience for him, so Howton said.

  The French sugar estates were, as they had been aware, the target, to be captured cheaply and undamaged, to the profit of the country, and of the politicians who would, somehow, end up owning them; how they were to be taken at all was unclear because the islands were garrisoned quite strongly and British forces sent for the task were small. The major prizes of Haiti and Martinique were far too powerful and the lesser islands were hardly worth the effort. It provided a difficulty for the commanders, for whom success meant baronetcy for sure, peerage possibly, while failure determined obscurity, a bad end to often deserving careers.

  The subalterns had no knowledge of the greater difficulties, their sole concern, when they were concerned at all, was to be ready to get their men onto the chosen field with their powder dry, and they bent all of their efforts to that simple end. Even the socialisers managed to stir themselves out of the mess when two longboats were begged from the navy for their use – just whose cousin was a brother by marriage to which naval captain Septimus never did discover – and took their turn in riding out from the pier by the barracks and landing on the beach. They learned to keep their cartridges in oilskin pouches and to wrap the locks of their pieces carefully dry, discovered they must hold a ready reserve of ammunition in well-swaddled chests immediately to hand. They noted also that the men must keep their boots on, however much seawater dulled their shine, as protection against the dead coral on the beaches – the first platoon to land, barefoot, was a month before it could march again.

  They boarded their transports, a motley collection of island brigs and schooners, and set off on their first endeavour as soon as the risk of a late hurricane was certainly past. The junior officers and most of the private soldiers were quite excited at the prospect of action, of the wealth of the plantations, but the more senior of the sergeants and the field officers wore thoughtful expressions. The word was that they were to take one of the smaller islands, not of overwhelming value in itself but well situated in the Lesser Antilles to be a jumping off point for further conquests and its harbour a useful base from which the navy’s cruisers could interrupt French trade.

  There was a good naval chart of the heart shaped island of St Jeanne that provided very precise information on its coast and the reefs surrounding it, but they had no maps at all and the navy, not in the habit of sailing its ships inland, could say no more of the island than that it had a mountain at its centre, that its sole port was in the south and that eighty miles of its shoreline was lined with plantations, some of which had wharfs. There was, the navy believed, a battery protecting the island’s port, also St Jeanne, but probably not of coastal artillery, more likely military twelve pound field pieces. The word in Jamaica was that there was a garrison of a single battalion of infantry, sent out in Royalist times and confidently supposed to be in decayed condition, under strength and of dubious loyalty, vulnerable therefore to assault by a single British battalion.

  The New Foresters were the only troops in the expedition while the navy offered as escort a fourth rate of fifty guns, the Panther, aged and of limited value, and a pair of gun brigs to do the actual work of convoying. The navy would blockade the harbour after the New Fo
resters had landed and would, hopefully, entertain the French sufficiently to keep the battery in place and pointing seaward; they would also contribute a landing party of Marines and seamen if there should be a final assault on the port.

  “Grabbing possession of the warehouses in port, Septimus, where the valuables will be! We can do without their aid for that, thank’ee!”

  As ever, there was little love lost between army and navy.

  In the absence of any detailed knowledge of the terrain it was impossible to make a plan of campaign other than a general determination to land where convenient and then march on the town and force a French surrender, ideally without creating such a degree of disorder as to encourage the slaves to become restless. There should be no great awkwardness from the French, they thought, the numbers being such that they would, logically, be expected to hold whatever walls they had.

  “In the open field, you see, Septimus, they being lesser in number than us, they would certainly expect defeat. Behind walls, however, they should be able to hold off a force of twice their size – but they are sickly, far from home and worried by events there, dispirited, may reasonably be expected to make a token resistance for the sake of honour before surrendering thankfully. We hope.”

  Howton laughed, aware of just how little knowledge they actually had of the conditions on the island – it was another Brittany, the powers-that-be substituting wishful thinking for hard planning again.

  The navy was to select their landing place; the sailors informing them that they would try to set them ashore on the more sheltered west coast of the island, a landing should be easier away from the Atlantic and its rollers.

  They closed the coast, found a few breaks in the coral and discovered all to be shoal water, depths of a fathom or less, utterly valueless to them. The chart showed the north of the island to be deep water, the reef unbroken in front of the cliffs; they were forced to the east. Where a small river came down to the coast they found a break a good half cable in width, the water an even deep green, a plantation house with a small jetty inside the reef; it seemed viable and the afternoon was advanced, the soldiers anxious to land before the word went out and the garrison marched to slaughter them at their most vulnerable as they landed. The smallest schooner ventured through the gap, lead working busily, signalled that all was well and the nine other transports followed to disgorge men and supplies.