Septimus kept his inevitable reflections to himself – the girl was pretty enough, had a mature figure – she would not starve, though she might perhaps come to wish she had, if she ended up in a cheap brothel. He took another, measuring, look at her, decided he might just make a suggestion about her future himself – tomorrow, or the day after, when the women had had a chance to explain things to her. He noticed one of the ladies narrow her eyes and purse her lips, reading his look, knew that the message would be passed to the girl, one way or the other.
“Do not leave this building except under escort, ladies. The sergeants, the men with stripes, will know you are here, there will be a sentry as soon as it is possible.”
Septimus found Mockford and Cooper, arranged for an escort for himself – he had to find Howton, was not so foolish as to venture through a sack without a half dozen muskets at his shoulder – and a rota of sentries to the wall, magazine and commandant’s quarters.
“Parade tomorrow morning, Mockford, and I shall arrange to have a triangle to hand for the immediate benefit of any man too drunk to stand to attention or unwilling to return to discipline.”
Mockford acknowledged the order, was thankful that stores of rum and brandy had been meagre, bottles of wine in short supply – few of the men were wholly sober at the moment but none should be raging drunk by the morning.
He found Howton at the quayside, almost at his wits’ end, just able to keep a sufficiency of men to hand to form a fire party to quell the inevitable blazes.
“Captain Pearce, hold the upper battery and the higher part of the town, if you please, try to organise pickets on the outskirts – there must be a few of eunuchs and Methodies not otherwise engaged, after all!”
They listened to the background of screams and shouts, the occasional shot as squabbles over a particular woman or piece of loot were resolved.
“I have ordered Mockford to parade the company at eight o’clock of the morning, sir.”
“Well done! Bring your area under control and I shall sweep through the rest of the town and re-establish order during the morning. Chalmers is in command, of course, but he will be amenable to my suggestions. The Commodore is trying to pull his sailors out before dusk, he tells me, expects to get the bulk of them aboard, as well – all of his Marines are still in hand, it would seem.”
“They have a use, those sea-soldiers, sir – there needs be something to keep the animals under control. Will you listen to it, sir!”
“They are always the same, Septimus, if it comes to a sack then even the best of them become no more than evil criminals.”
“They have to be kept down, sir – the mob must never be allowed to run loose. The revolution in France unleashed just the same passions, it would seem – where the mob is let free there can only be the one result!”
Howton nodded, not wholly convinced that repression was the sole answer, unable to provide an enlightened and effective alternative and well aware that a philosophical discussion with Septimus might be very hard work.
“Young Micklewhite did well today, Septimus; is he ready for his lieutenancy yet?”
“Yes, sir, although, like me, he will need his hand held for the first few months, but that can be done, I believe. Did we lose many?”
“Duvivier and Howard both fell, of the people you brought out. For the rest, the surgeon has yet to report, I do not know.”
Septimus returned to the battery, bedded down for the night in the commandant’s room, was woken by Cooper with fresh bread and newly brewed coffee.
“Cooks in the Frogs’ kitchens, sir – they ‘ad sense enough to climb into their flour room and pull the door tight shut. Found ‘em last night and got their ovens going – breakfast for everybody, this morning.”
“Good man! Tell Mockford to get the men together, if you please, Cooper. Throw all the women out, except the officers’ families. Bring the place back to order.”
They held a formal parade and roll-call, established for the first time who had fallen on the previous day; Septimus sent a runner to find Dowdy, discovered he had kept in contact with Mockford, had managed to bring most of B Company back to discipline. Between them the two companies established a line of pickets around the inland boundary of the town, began to bring the benefits of English colonial rule to their new possession.
The officers’ wives and families were escorted to their homes in the plantations on the following day, the commandant’s daughter begging an interview of Septimus in his quarters, once hers.
“Can I go back to France, sir?”
“How?”
She did not know, had an amount of gold coin, recovered from her father’s room, had vaguely thought she might purchase a passage, had not considered, because she knew nothing of it, the problem of finding a ship to take her to an enemy port.
“Madame Foret said it would not be possible, but the only thing she could say was that I should find a ‘protector’, a man who would look after me, she said, but I do not know, am not sure what else…”
“You have a choice, mademoiselle – you may walk out of here, go into town and look after yourself, somehow, or stay here, in these quarters, with me.”
She knew that she would not be safe in town – over many years she had been told that she must not walk out alone, that she must not talk to strange people in the town, that she must keep away from the sailors and other rough men. If she stayed in her old home, then she would be in the company of a strange man, but only the one – he would be her ‘protector’. She could see no choice.
“If I stay here, sir, you will make sure I come to no harm?”
“Not much, anyway. If you stay, you will be my woman.”
She did not understand, but could not refuse.
“I will stay.”
“Good.” Septimus pulled out his watch – he had an hour spare before he intended to inspect the pickets. “Come with me.”
He led her into the bedroom, sat down in the single chair, began to pull his boots off.
“Take your clothes off, girl. What is your name, by the way?”
“Monique, sir, Monique Lyautey. What do you mean, undress myself?”
“Yes – or go out of the gate, one or the other, the choice is yours, you are free to do whichever you wish.”
She submitted in utter silence, lay down on the mattress and did exactly as she was told; Septimus was unconcerned – he had not taken her to bed to hold a conversation.
Man of Conflict Series
BOOK ONE
Chapter Eleven
“A and B Companies will therefore, gentlemen, be amalgamated under the command of Captain Pearce and will pursue the remaining French forces in the uncultivated areas of the island. C, D, E and F will be distributed in garrison throughout the plantations, G and H, as now constituted at half strength, will hold the upper battery, Allington’s Fort, it is to be named.”
The speaker was Major Howton, addressing his officers in the mess of the French barracks at the lower fortress, three days after the taking of St Christophe.
“The Wiltshires, based here, will hold the town and harbour and will maintain a half battalion at readiness to assist Captain Pearce if he should discover any organised mass of French troops in the field. The Wiltshires will garrison the village where we landed, probably holding the field artillery there. The navy has promised to blockade the island until the wet season drives them offshore – they have located every jetty on the plantations, will cut off reinforcements or escape.”
Howton shuffled his papers to show that he was finishing.
“Information collected over the last day, gentleman, says that the late Governor was a local revolutionary, one who had been educated in France, naturally, and believed in the Revolution and, more particularly, in the virtue of ‘the People in Arms’. It was his understanding that zeal and purity of belief would outmatch the more military skills of the soldiers of tyranny; the news of the battle of Valmy, where a citizen army would seem to have t
riumphed, served to strengthen his idealism. He scorned, therefore, to take a defensive stance, or to set ambushes for us – he knew that he could win in open battle. He was, one must say, brave enough to stand at the front of his people, thus putting his oratory to the test of experience; equally, of course, he became one of the very first to discover his theory to be incorrect.”
There was a chuckle of appreciation from those of the audience who had understood him.
“The wet season is due in the next few weeks, gentlemen – certainly not for another fortnight, the local people say, but definitely within two months. Hurricanes, of course, are wholly unpredictable. Campaigning will be effectively impossible in the first few weeks of the rainy season.”
The French remaining unsubdued when the rains started would have the choice of surrender, holing up in a camp on high ground or mounting a last desperate attack. An assault, coordinated with a rising of the bitterly resentful population of St Christophe, would be a bloody business, would cost many lives, might well result in much or all of the town burning – it was a real possibility, the men, wealth looted, wives, daughters and sisters repeatedly raped, would be a long time forgiving the invaders.
Septimus had conferred with Howton over the French charts of the island and planned to march through the plantations on the south coast and then take a track leading inland to a small village in an upland valley, said to be a fruit growing area with vegetable gardens on the hillsides, possibly the only place other than the plantations themselves with a surplus of foodstuffs, consequently the only sensible base for those French soldiers still under command. The plantations themselves were known to be clear of any formed bodies, might at most have the odd two or three soldiers more or less in concealment and unlikely to wish to go to war again.
“One hundred and ten men, Mockford. How many donkeys have you found?”
“Twelve, sir, and a pair of panniers for each. Eight of them are to carry five hundred rounds apiece and the other four will have a day’s rations between them.”
“Very good! We march at three, as planned, and will reach our overnight point at dusk, so keeping some concealment, I hope. Set out at first light and we should arrive at the hamlet by midday, might pull off a surprise.”
“In any case, sir, we shall have a good six hours of daylight left. All will be ready, sir.”
Mockford was taking his new role of second-in-command, acting in effect as a commissioned officer rather than a sergeant, very seriously, determined to succeed, to show well – he could read and write fluently and had his arithmetic and had already been commended for his leadership on the day of battle. If he shone in the next few weeks, before the battalion could receive any replacements from Home, he might be given a lieutenant’s commission. He would almost certainly eventually become a quartermaster, a glorified shopkeeper, rather than a fighting officer, but he would then have every chance to enrich himself, make two or three thousands over five years or so before going onto his half-pay and then, two shillings a day and a hundred acres of good land, a respectable future, his children – for he would certainly marry – growing up in comfort. It was worth making every effort, taking any risk, to achieve. The worst that could happen was that he might die, and soldiers risked that every day in war time.
A son from the plantation where they slept led them out in the morning – his parents were well-off, would have no truck with revolution and had been done no harm by the British; most of all they feared a wet season at the mercy of bands of soldiers short of food and little better than brigands. Loyalty to the King seemed silly, now that he was dead and his son, too; loyalty to unwashed gutter-rats, lawyers and rabble-rousers, the new government of France, was even more ridiculous – so sensible business people did the sensible thing, showed their support for good order and firm government, of whatever nationality. There had been a slight embarrassment when a daughter had enquired of Monique Lyautey, but Septimus was able to assure her that she was in good health and well looked after.
Monique was, in fact, installed in a comfortable house less than half a mile from the battery; its previous owner had tried to fight the soldiers off of his wife and daughter, had shot a sergeant – the enraged platoon had tied him and made him watch and listen for hours before killing all three. Septimus had taken over the empty house, had put Cooper in the quarters, Monique into the main bedroom, and had hired a couple of maids for their comfort; she had stayed there without protest, indeed, almost without saying anything, silent as she had been for all of the few days they had been together.
Their route led them along a thickly forested valley, a stony watercourse running through the centre, almost straight, a few inches of water trickling slowly at this time of year; mud stains on the rocks ten feet up the valley side showed where the torrent raged in the wet season. Little of timber grew on the valley floor, but the sides offered rich concealment in the bush and under the rain trees. The valley rose into the inland and they came to a spur jutting off the hills, scrubland and secondary rain forest replaced by bananas on this lower side of the village. The huge leaves of the bananas provided cover still and they rested for a few minutes underneath the leaf-wrapped bundles of ripening fruit. Enquiry disclosed that if the villagers did not wrap them they would lose almost all of their crop to the fruit bats; asked why they did not kill the fruit bats instead the plantation lad was appalled – one never shot fruit bats, he said, when he could bring himself to speak of so horrifying a prospect, bats knew too much, were the familiars of every magician and witch on the island, as well shoot oneself, quicker, less painful and no more sure an end than killing a bat!
Septimus shrugged, made a mental note to leave bats alone – he did not share the boy’s fears, of course, but common sense said that one did not take silly, unknown risks.
Dowdy took a platoon forward to reconnoitre, came back inside the hour, leading two men carrying a corpse between them.
“Sentries, sir, but they was a bit careless-like. Two of ‘em was ‘aving a bit of a fry-up, putting a bite together, like, and the stiff was supposed to be looking out, but ‘e was more interested in what they was doin’. Cooper stuck ‘im, nice and quiet, and we took the other two and come on back. Thought it would be better than goin’ any closer, we know where they are.”
Mockford took the two prisoners to the stream for questioning; he held their heads under water, a minute at a time, alternately, and they soon realised that he would not stop until they either talked or weakened to drowning point. They were quite free in their description of their camp, once they accepted the reality of their situation.
“Tie them and hold them under guard, Mockford. Major Howton needs prisoners, he tells me, wants labour to rebuild the harbour fort without robbing the plantations of their people.”
Mockford nodded, detailed men to the task, instructing them to see the corpse properly planted as well.
There were three hundred men and two officers in Libreville, half of them in possession of muskets and powder, the rest equipped with bayonet-tipped bamboo pikes and cane cutlasses. The remaining regulars, maybe a hundred or so, were in small camps scattered around, would not fight, would almost certainly surrender once they were sure that the French were not going to win and leave them exposed as traitors. The hamlet itself was on a terrace on the north side of the valley and there were literally dozens of tracks and paths leading to the gardens on both sides and further into the hills – it would need a thousand men to cover every escape route, to take all of them.
“No choice then, Mockford – we must break them up, make sure they will not be able to launch an attack in force on the town, spread them out and take them one by one over time. The trees, papaya and banana under coconut, reach to within a few yards of the village, and most of the men will sleep in the afternoon heat. They say there is one big, open-sided thatched shelter for them? Bring the men in their platoons to the south westerly corner of the village, open fire without warning, panic them. If they surrender, wel
l and good, except for the two officers – they sound too enterprising for their own good – chop them if at all possible, but no charges, no hand-to-hand, keep our own losses to an absolute minimum.”
Mockford agreed, had no alternative suggestions to offer, passed the word to the men.
They rested in the shade until the sun was at its highest, the heat building fiercely, thunder heads climbing, the humidity unpleasant in these few days before the rains came in. They chewed their rations, drank and refilled their bottles from a side stream, not fancying the water in the main channel, not after it had passed the village. The boy from the plantation picked out ripe fruit for them, selecting the better varieties of banana, gravely informing them that there were more than ninety sorts of the fruit, many of them better suited for cooking than eating raw. They filed out silently when Septimus decided it was midday, platoon after platoon, silently along the track, then left and right through the shadow of the trees, easing into a cupped-hand formation around one corner of the village.
There were maybe a dozen huts, woven cane panels for their sides, palm fronds laid heavily and topped with a foot thick layer of long, coarse grass to make a reasonably water-proof and cool roof. The huts were two roomed, not more than fifteen feet square, all with a single opening and no door; each had a kitchen, well separate, a stone hearth, open sides and overhanging roof with a pair of cast-iron pots and a kettle. In what had been an open, central space, possibly used for drying copra in the past, a big, poorly made barracks had been raised. The building was about a hundred feet long and twenty wide, open sided, a roof held by coconut palm trunks and beams, lashed together with thin cane, covered across by bamboos with piles of palm fronds and grass roughly thrown over; a strong storm wind would damage it, a hurricane, of course, would leave nothing.
The barracks was packed with sleeping men, their dirty white skin identifying them as enemy. The New Foresters had been ordered to take such care as they could not to shoot the local people – they had enemies enough already without creating more.
The Soldier Brat (Man of Conflict Series, Book 1) Page 21