Micah agreed with that – there was no need to make his objections in front of the rest of the men.
“I ain’t the sort what gets made officers, Captain!”
“Times are changing, Ensign Slater. There is a war a-coming, or so many men believe. Who does what and on which side, is another matter. Talk about that on a future day. For now, there are more men being brought to the flag and they need officers. The officers I want are men who have smelled powder, and who like the aroma, too! You have fired that musket you carry at the moment and have hit your man and seen him go down and looked for the next to follow him. You have not burst into tears because you have killed a man, unlike one or two I have seen in my time. You know how to take an order and how to give one. Importantly, your men trust you. They know that you will stand in front of them, not hide behind their backs.”
“So… I have got to be an officer because the men need me, that’s what you’re saying, sir.”
“That’s it. Soldiering is duty, Micah Slater. Nothing else matters. Your duty is to lead your men and do it well. You are the best man I know to become the officer I need. It is your duty under the Lord to do the job that these men demand of you. Think, man! What would your pastor say you should do?”
Micah thought that was unfair, below the belt, as it were.
“He would tell me to pray for guidance, Captain, and then follow the voice of God in my mind. Thing is, Captain, unlike so many of the others in the village, I ain’t ever heard that voice. Times are, I wonders if they have either! But, if it truly be my duty, I ain’t one to refuse. Can’t, can I?”
“You cannot, Ensign Slater. You must not. When we get into barracks or camp at York, I shall arrange for you to be equipped properly. For the while, put away thy musket and carry pistols and a sword only. You have one pistol at your side, I see, taken from the Scots. Who else has one?”
“Seven of the lads, sir. We stripped those Scottish horsemen of swords and pistols, sir. We brought back their belts as well.”
Captain Holdby approved – soldiers must discover their own reward on the field. He did not doubt that the company had emptied some Scots’ purses as well.
“Did all of the men want to carry a pistol?”
“No, sir. Some did not like the extra weight, but I made them carry the extra shot, in case of need.”
“Good. Take any spare from those who do not want them, Ensign Slater. Sword and belt as well.”
“Two pistols, sir?”
“Six, if you can lay hands on them. Two for normal wear and the others on a belt for when we go to battle. Always wear a sword – it shows you to be an officer. Have you ever ridden a horse?”
Micah laughed and shook his head.
“Not in Collyweston, sir. No riding horses there.”
“I will see you taught in York and will do what is possible to lay hands on a mount for you. In the confusion that follows a war, especially a losing campaign, it is amazing what can be done, one way and another. I know a few people who will be there in York. I shall make sure they know thee as well. For the while, I shall send my servant out to pick up thy bedroll and bring it in here. Officers do not live out in the barracks rooms or eat there. On campaign, in camp, we all mess in together. Not in barracks.”
Micah found it hard to distance himself from the men who had become his mates, sometimes his friends. He had had no close friends back in the village, had never run with the village boys, his father not permitting it. He had worked at his brother’s side since leaving his schooling and had hardly spoken to others of his own age. Marching with the company, he had discovered close acquaintances for the first time in his life and it was not easy to push them to a proper place.
He was helped by the men themselves, all of whom, except Jonathan, had an idea of what was proper for their officer.
He would go back to Collyweston one day, he thought now. On horseback, with a sword at his side and pistols in their holsters. If he became a captain, he would have a servant as well, riding behind him. That would show them. He wondered what his father would think and do then, still unaware of his father’s demise soon after Micah had fled the village. Pastor Doddington would not approve of Micah’s status, being firmly of the opinion that a man was born to his place and must reside there content in obeying the will of the Lord.
“Sod him!”
He took a degree of pleasure in that utterance, never having actually even thought the words before, not relating to the pastor.
He marched at the head of the company, next to Sergeant Patterson, fifteen miles a day south to York. Captain Holdby had ridden ahead to make arrangements for them and to meet Colonel Knighton, their new commanding officer.
Captain Holdby was waiting for them as they marched into the camp.
“Sergeant Patterson, the orderly here will lead you to our barracks room. You will make necessary arrangements for the issue of equipment and for rationing. There is a Quartermaster for Colonel Knighton’s Regiment and he expects you. Ensign Slater, accompany me.”
Micah had stopped the company outside the camp so that they could spend half an hour brushing off the dust and putting a shine on their shoes. They still looked well-worn but showed that they had made an effort to be smart.
“Well done, Ensign. The men look the thing. They will be seen as they make their way through the camp. Not that there are so many here now, but the few that remain are professional soldiers and know what to look for.”
The camp was an expanse of mostly bare ground outside the old walls. Marks in the ground showed where tents had been pitched for months and there were the obvious signs of the horse lines, now deserted. There were a few brick barracks buildings recently built outside the walls.
“Company will be over there, Ensign.”
Captain Holdby gestured to the single storey and rough-built structures.
“They’ll do for the next couple of months. I am told we shall march down south towards Newark fairly soon. Garrison in the Midlands there, or across into Lancashire. The Colonel wishes to meet you, Ensign. Stand to attention and say very little. Always a good rule for a junior officer.”
Colonel Knighton was no more than thirty years old, at a guess, soft-skinned, as if he had spent little time out in the sun and wind. He did not have the look of a soldier, lacking the watchfulness that seemed to mark men who had smelled powder. He was richly dressed, showed a deal of lace at neck and cuffs, wore beautifully polished high boots and a doublet of the best wool. He flourished a tricorne hat as they entered his rooms and exchanged bows.
It seemed to Micah that Knighton had an unmemorable face – very regular and oval with a short, gingerish beard and moustaches and faded blue eyes and nothing to make him in any way out of the ordinary.
He was Colonel because he had the money to raise a Regiment and take it to the wars. He was not expected to lead his men into battle and the King would pay them and eventually reimburse him his costs, or some part of them. A year or so and in the nature of things, there would be a knighthood. If his Regiment did well, he would be made a General and then, if he had a successful campaign or two, there might be a peerage. It was a more certain route to worldly promotion than playing politics but did have the disadvantage that if the Colonel joined the losing side, he might even have his head taken.
His officers were important to the Colonel because they would do the fighting for him. Captain Holdby had a good reputation and had led a company in the Germanies in the everlasting war there. Most of the officers in both the Scots’ and the King’s armies had learned their trade in the Germanies.
“Captain Holdby, good day to you, sir. This must be your ensign, of whom you are so proud. Mr Slater, is it not?”
Micah bowed again and said that it was. He was honoured to make his Colonel’s acquaintance.
“Very good, Ensign Slater. Captain Holdby tells me that he does not need a lieutenant for having your experienced services. You certainly look as a soldier should, sir, windswep
t and strong. You will require breast and back and a helmet, and I prefer my officers to wear boots rather than shoes. That will be seen to for you. Do you have a charger?”
“No, sir.”
“That also can be supplied, Ensign Slater. Do not consider the matter of cost, sir. I am to supply the King with a fully-equipped regiment and will cover such questions of money as may arise. Your job is to be ready to go to war, sir.”
That provided something of a problem as Micah was inclined to the view that he might not be so likely to fight for the King if a dispute arose between His Majesty and the Godly folk of the kingdom.
Not to worry. That was a problem that might not arise. He bowed briefly and said that he had seen a little of war and was ready indeed to face more for his Captain and Colonel.
“Well said, sir! I do not think myself that the present disagreements can lead to war, as such. When Parliament next sits, we can be sure that all loyal men will come together to end all of our squabbles and set us onto the godly path of obedience to our sovereign lord, the King. Parliament may have advice to offer, but His Majesty must rule, as God hath provided.”
There was no answer to that. The question could not be debated because it was a matter of faith, not reason. Either the King ruled by Divine Right, or he was the representative of his people. There was no place for compromise.
The chapel held that the congregation was led by its pastor, who was appointed by them and could be rebuked or dismissed by them as need arose. The country, the chapel said, was led by its king, on the same terms. Thinking on that issue, Micah realised that he belonged to the congregation and if war came, then he must fight for it. He hoped war might not come. For the while he would continue as a soldier, and hopefully learn how to be an officer.
Captain Holdby offered his thanks to the Colonel for taking the company into his fine new Regiment.
“We are short of numbers, sir, having lost men to the fighting. How do we make up our ranks?”
“The Trained Bands are mostly being sent home, Captain. The word is being passed to them that men who wish to remain under arms may join us. Those who have been sent to us willy-nilly will be given the chance to end their service, provided only that the volunteers are there to replace them. If we cannot make our numbers from the Trained Bands, then no doubt other methods will be tried.”
The interview came to its end – without any offer of refreshment, both noted – and they left to find their officers mess.
“There are six companies to the Regiment, so far, Ensign. I believe the Colonel wishes to make us up to ten. Two or three officers to each company together with adjutant and quartermaster makes the better part of thirty of us. There is to be a major, or two, and possibly a lieutenant-colonel in command. If we make our companies up to eighty or thereabouts, we will become one of the most powerful of the regiments of foot. I imagine we will be half pikes, half shot, or close to. I believe the mess building is inside the walls, probably in the old castle itself.”
Five captains, seven of lieutenants and three other ensigns were present, idling away their afternoon after a presumably busy morning of drill and exercises. There was nothing untoward in the presence of all of the officers at that time of day.
Captain Holdby nodded and announced Ensign Slater as the new man. There was a vague mutter of greetings a mess waiter came forward with glasses of wine for them. Micah saw that every man had a glass at his side, half-full. He took the tiniest of sips, his first experience of a red wine. He did not like it much, but it was the correct drink and he must get used to it.
None of the men showed weather-beaten. All had spent the campaign behind walls and under a rain-proof ceiling.
The ensigns were all younger than him and dressed very new. The lieutenants all showed marks of a breast and back on their doublets. The ensigns displayed no signs of wear.
“I say, Slater, where are you from?”
The speaker was perhaps the youngest of the ensigns, his voice very recently broken.
“Lincolnshire Trained Band, but I come from Collyweston which be just over the border into Northamptonshire. Stamford way.”
“Oh! I’m from Hertford. Most of us are from thereabouts. Colonel Knighton is a Hertford man, you know.”
“We had been up here for some months and were posted across to Colonel Knighton’s Regiment rather than be sent home like the others. Only a few men for losing too many in the fighting.”
“Ah! I’m Russell, you know.”
Micah smiled in greeting, unintentionally conveying the impression of distance, of being the fighting man in the company of a boy.
“Do you know what is planned for the Regiment, Russell?”
“I don’t. None of us do. There is word of trouble in Ireland, you know. We might be sent there.”
Other than knowing that Ireland was across the sea, Micah was ignorant of the island and its problems.
“Well, if there is fighting to do, as well there as any place else, Russell.”
“Perhaps…”
Ensign Russell gave the impression that fighting was not high on his list of tasks for a soldier to perform. He might well prefer strutting in a pretty uniform to splashing in the mud of a hard-fought field, Micah suspected.
Captain Holdby called him across to meet the senior of the mess, a Captain Manvers, who made him officially welcome.
“I hear you have been out in the field this month or two, Slater.”
“Yes, Captain. A lot of marching for a very little of action. I am glad we are back here before winter comes in. Are we to move soon, do you know?”
“I don’t, Slater. The word is that there are four more companies to join yet and that we are to make up our numbers from the men being discharged. I hope we may. There are many youngsters at liberty in town here who may be persuaded to join our ranks. Farmers’ sons who fled their land in front of the Scots, the bulk of them.”
“We need the men, Captain. Better they should come from the Land than be drawn from the alleys of towns, from all I am told.”
Chapter Eight
Years of Blood Series
Bold and Blooded
The first week in York was distinguished by unbroken worry. Every single action was an occasion for internal debate, from drinking his small beer with breakfast to taking a last glass before retiring to bed. Micah was unsure of the right thing to do and knew he must fit into the mess and its ways, that he must mix with the other officers if he was to fight at their side later – there would be sufficient enemies without making them in his own regiment.
Captain Holdby left him to make his own way, deliberately, refusing to hold his hand, until the week had gone by.
“Thing is Ensign Slater, the others are all afraid of you, so they are waiting for you to approach them. You make them nervous. They know you have fought repeatedly. Their sergeants have told them the stories circulating in the barracks. You rescued your company and brought them out, carrying their wounded, in the face of a great mass of Scots, horse and foot. Add to that, you’re not a small man and red-haired, so probably with a fiery temper. Only two of the captains have so much as seen a Scot, and none of the juniors. Four of the captains have marched in the Germanies - but none of them had the luck to smell powder. They were kept in garrison or were marched to the wrong place. You and I, Red Man - for they fear me too – we are dangerous men, and liable to pick up the promotions they might like.”
“Promotion?”
“If war comes, more regiments will be raised, and existing officers will step up in rank to command them.”
That made simple sense.
“So, what has that to do with the dinner table, sir?”
“They wait for you to speak to them, being nervous of attracting your attention. After the meal, sit down with the other young men and talk. Ask what there is to do in York in our spare hours – they have been here longer than you, must know that.”
Micah tried Captain Holdby’s advice and discovered tha
t York was a small and boring place. Had they been in London, there would have been amusements a-plenty, but York was deadly provincial.
“Nothing at all, is the short answer, Slater! No playhouse; staid taverns; no racecourse; not a knocking shop worthy of the name! Nothing for a gentleman to do. You have a choice of a dozen sermons on Sunday and that is the whole of the week’s amusement. Can’t even have a card school in the mess for fear of offending the good burghers who we rely upon for rations, being short of money to buy them.”
“I thought it was rather quiet, myself, but I have no experience of a mess distant from the fighting lines. I did not know if this was normal.”
“Anything but, dear boy! This is the least normal mess I have ever heard of. Still, we march on Monday, so I am told.”
Lieutenant D’Eath – ‘pronounced Deeth, like Teeth, don’t you know’ – knew everything. A week of listening told Micah that the lieutenant made it his business to be privy to all of the news and gossip and outright rumours circulating.
“Where do we go? South to Newark or west to Ireland?”
“Ireland? Who said anything about Ireland?”
“I was told that the Irish are in revolt and that an army is to be sent against them.”
“Scots, dear boy!”
“Scots? But we are fighting them!”
“No we ain’t. Jolly good chaps, the Scots! A slight misunderstanding, that’s all. The Scottish army is to be paid to go to Ireland to put the Papists down. Thing is, we ain’t got the troops to do it ourselves. Won’t have, either, if we don’t get more recruits in.”
The six companies had not increased in number during the week. They had taken in almost no new bodies. Captain Holdby had been unwilling to release any of the company, despite the announcement that the enlistments of the Trained Bands were terminated. Even Jonathan remained in the ranks.
Micah rather hoped they would not march too soon. He was of the opinion that if the aim was to set out on Monday they would still be in York by the following Sunday – the organisation of the garrison was incompetent in the extreme. He had been given his charger on Tuesday and had ridden four hours a day since, sore and bow-legged, and really wanted a few more hours of practice before he showed himself out in front of the company on a day’s march.
Bold and Blooded Page 10