The Queen's Colonial

by Peter Watt

  That evening, Ian briefed Jenkins and his men of the mission. None seemed very eager – especially Jenkins.

  ‘What should happen if we are caught in the open by Russian cavalry?’ Jenkins asked.

  ‘I have Mr Forbes’ men prepared to cover our withdrawal,’ Ian replied. ‘You are honoured with the opportunity to engage the enemy, Mr Jenkins.’

  Jenkins did not appear to feel the honour. After dark, the riflemen moved forward after all loose uniform fittings were tested not to make any sound. The men used the lights of the Russian defences as a guide, and Ian moved quietly with Jenkins. Ian had been counting the paces until he was confident that the distance brought them within range of the forward defences.

  ‘Pass the order for the men to deploy themselves to any cover they may find,’ Ian whispered, and the word was passed down the line of advancing soldiers.

  When they were halted, the men made the best of any concealment they could find in the dark and waited for the sun to rise.

  Ian had carried his Enfield rifle and his pistol. He had left his cumbersome sword in his tent.

  They watched and waited and, just after the sun was above the horizon, the first Russian soldiers appeared at their posts along the line, unaware of the British marksmen only two hundred yards out.

  Beside Ian was Corporal Curry and the two Williams brothers. Ian had instructed them to seek out any obvious officers and senior NCOs they may be able to target.

  ‘There!’ Ian whispered, spotting an officer in his fancy uniform. ‘There is your target.’

  Conan carefully rested his rifle, took a breath and slowly released it, squeezing the trigger at the same time. The rifle fired and the officer dropped from sight. Conan’s shot was followed by a volley from the other concealed British soldiers, and more exposed Russian soldiers fell from sight. The sudden sharpshooting from no man’s land had caught the enemy by complete surprise.

  Loading the rifled musket from the prone position was difficult and the riflemen were forced to kneel to do so. It was then that Ian could see how exposed they were on the plain between the lines, and wondered if he had made a terrible mistake. He had hardly chastised himself when Conan yelled, ‘Sir! Cossacks!’

  Ian swung his attention to their flank where he saw around fifty horsemen gathering to launch an attack on the outnumbered marksmen. They were a few hundred yards away, but it would not take long before their heavy swords would be sweeping down on the line of skirmishers.

  ‘Mr Jenkins, give the order to fall back to our lines in an orderly manner,’ Ian yelled to the officer a few yards away. Jenkins did not acknowledge, frozen by fear. Ian leapt to his feet and bellowed, ‘Riflemen, to me.’

  The terrified soldiers snapped from their fear at the sound of Ian’s voice, and quickly ran to him. Already, musket balls filled the air from the Russian lines, and it would not be long before their artillery opened fire. Ian could hear the thundering of hooves on the plain as the Cossacks had assembled in an attack formation. He could see that the situation was desperate. Jenkins was cowering on his knees with his hands over his head.

  ‘Form a line facing the enemy and move towards our own lines,’ Ian said. He did not bother to order a square as it would have no use when caught with fire from the Russian lines, and the rapidly advancing cavalry. The single line with its face to the advancing Cossacks moved at a trot until Ian could see the sun glint on the raised sabres.

  ‘Left turn and fire!’ Ian yelled, raising his own rifle. The men obeyed and the rifle fire of their Enfields brought horses and Cossacks spilling on the grassy plain. But it did not deter them, and Ian knew that they would not have time to reload before the horsemen were on them. He glanced to his rear to see Jenkins still cowering and ordered Conan to grab the junior officer and drag him back to their lines. Conan sprinted to Jenkins, grabbed him by his jacket and hauled him to his feet, shouting in his ear to run. The situation was desperate until a withering fire of Enfields erupted on the Cossack flank from the red-coated riflemen rising from the concealment of the long, dry grass. The enfilading rifle fire smashed the attack as horsemen milled in confusion at the unseen enemy tearing their ranks apart. Ian exhorted his men to reload, whilst their officer, Lieutenant Jenkins, continued to crouch in the grass where Conan had dumped him. Jenkins had not even bothered to use his pistol.

  Ian could see Herbert commanding his second row of men to fire as the first rank reloaded. The confused Cossacks wheeled about, and retreated, leaving many dead and wounded on the plain. Wounded horses snorted pitifully, and Ian realised that his band of skirmishers were now out of musket range of the Russian frontline but not their artillery guns.

  Ian ordered Jenkins’ men to withdraw to their trenches in good order, and also realised with relief that none had been killed or wounded. Jenkins trailed along like a whipped dog, but raised his head when they were safely in their own lines. Herbert had withdrawn his men to the lines as well, and Ian sought him out with a broad smile. A cheer from adjoining regiments was heard along the line, welcoming the men home.

  ‘Herbert, my gratitude for you disobeying my orders to remain in the lines.’

  ‘I felt that we needed to be further forward to provide support for your mission,’ Herbert said, basking in the success of his efforts. ‘When you departed, I had my men move forward, and take up positions in the long grass behind you. I guess I have a good teacher in my company commander.’

  ‘Sir, the colonel wishes to confer with you,’ a breathless soldier said, approaching him along the trench.

  Ian followed the soldier until they came to the colonel’s tent, and Ian was partially surprised to see Lieutenant Jenkins in the company of the commanding officer. Ian saluted the colonel.

  ‘Captain Forbes, it disturbs me when one of your own officers has levelled a charge of your reckless behaviour in the previous hours,’ the colonel said. ‘Mr Jenkins is a man of very high standing in London, and I must put stock in his allegation concerning your behaviour.’

  Ian was stunned. After all, it had been the colonel who had sanctioned the mission, but Ian also knew it would not be tactful for him to remind the commanding officer of this.

  ‘Sir, I acknowledge that there was some risk in what I planned, but that is the nature of warfare. We succeeded in inflicting heavy casualties on the Russians without the loss of one man in the regiment. It has been good for the morale of the men as this inactivity lays heavy on them.’

  ‘That is not the point, Captain Forbes, the point is that Mr Jenkins feels you went beyond careful consideration of your plan. He has informed me that you were nearly wiped out when the Cossacks’ cavalry intervened. It appears you had not calculated for that.’

  ‘Mr Forbes was in position to counter their intervention,’ Ian said.

  ‘But you did not mention his part in your original plan to Mr Jenkins, and the men he commanded,’ the colonel countered. ‘I agree with Mr Jenkins that your brother’s timely intervention was not something you had originally planned.’ Ian knew what his commanding officer was saying was true. Ian had commanded Herbert to remain with his men in the trenches, but also remembered how Jenkins had lost control of his platoon in the retreat back to their lines. But this was not the time to raise that issue.

  ‘Mr Forbes used his initiative,’ Ian grudgingly agreed. ‘I have since commended him for his foresight.’

  ‘Then it is agreed that your actions were reckless,’ the colonel said. ‘Accept my reprimand, Captain Forbes, and apologise to Mr Jenkins for the danger you recklessly placed he and his men in.’

  Ian was fuming. He was to apologise to the cowardly young man whose only claim to being an officer was that his family were a powerful force in London society. If Ian had his way, he would have charged him with cowardice. But that did not seem to apply to officers – only the rank and file. Ian turned to Jenkins, who was smirking.

  ‘My ap
ologies, Mr Jenkins,’ he grudgingly said, and the colonel smiled.

  ‘Good show. I expect that you will take notice of any concerns Mr Jenkins may raise in the future concerning any operational missions you may plan. That is all. You are both dismissed.’

  Ian glared at Jenkins, who still stood smirking at Ian’s reprimand. Ian saluted the colonel and they exited the tent.

  ‘Mr Jenkins,’ Ian said when they were outside. ‘Just remember that you are still under my command, and under military law you will still obey my orders.’

  ‘That may not be for very long, Captain Forbes,’ Jenkins said. ‘Have I failed to mention that my family have just purchased me a majority? Oh, I must have forgotten. It should be gazetted by now. I have been granted leave to return to England, and when I return I shall be a major on Lord Raglan’s staff.’ Jenkins strolled away, leaving Ian in a state of near shock. If what he said was true, the incompetent and arrogant fool was about to be promoted to be Ian’s superior officer.

  Twenty-Four

  Molly had trudged the highway back to London. At the point of exhaustion on the cold bleak day, she had been fortunate to be given a carriage trip by a family of Quakers, who let her off not far from the bustling city centre.

  Molly thanked them for their kindness. She knew that she must reach the Forbes London house to apologise to Miss Alice for resigning so suddenly from her employment. She did not want Alice to think that she had been ungrateful for the wonderful opportunity she had been afforded.

  Alice was upset to see the young woman in such a state of dishevelment at her front door. She immediately had Molly ushered in, and a blanket placed over her shoulders while ordering hot tea and cake.

  Molly’s shivering ceased as the blanket and hot tea warmed her body.

  ‘What has happened?’ Alice asked. ‘I can see that you have suffered hardship.’

  ‘I have come to apologise for leaving your employment, miss,’ Molly said. ‘But my situation became intolerable.’

  ‘Intolerable?’ Alice queried with a frown.

  ‘I do not wish to elaborate, but I was left with no other choice than to leave,’ Molly replied. ‘I wish it had been otherwise, as I am now destitute.’

  ‘Was it Charles?’ Alice asked in an angry voice. ‘I know my brother’s disposition towards serving girls.’

  ‘If you may please, I do not wish to cause any embarrassment to you or your family,’ Molly said, sipping from her cup of tea. ‘I only wish my Conan and my brothers were here, safe from the battlefields.’

  ‘I also wish my brothers and fiancé were here,’ Alice echoed. ‘From what I have read in the papers, the war is not going well for our men in the Crimea. Dr Campbell writes of the terrible conditions facing the sick and wounded. Herbert and Sam hardly write, but I know they must be in those terrible battles Mr Russell’s dispatches describe.’

  ‘I only wish if they cannot be with us, I could be with them,’ Molly sighed, and Alice’s face lit up.

  ‘Do you think that you could tend to sick and wounded soldiers?’ she asked.

  Molly looked at Alice. ‘I could,’ she said. ‘But I am confused as to what you mean.’

  ‘I know a lady, Miss Florence Nightingale, who is currently calling for single ladies to go with her to the Eastern front. She has already assembled some Papist nuns, and will be leaving next week. I know if I spoke to her and introduced you, Miss Nightingale would surely consider you for her organisation. What do you say to that?’

  ‘Oh, I would give anything to have the opportunity to be near Conan, and my brothers!’ Molly said, almost spilling her cup of tea in her excitement.

  ‘From all that I have come to learn about you, Molly, I know that you have lived a harsh life, and that you are a caring and intelligent young woman who is hardy enough to endure the life I expect will require great fortitude and compassion. I am sure I will be able to convince Miss Nightingale to employ you. I will personally provide a reference.’

  ‘Miss, if you are able to have me employed, I may even be able to seek out Dr Campbell, and thank him for having me released from prison. It would mean a lot to a poor, wretched girl as myself.’

  ‘You may be poor but you are not wretched,’ Alice said gently. ‘Come, you are in need of a hot bath, and some new clothes.’

  Molly rose from the seat, following Alice who was already ordering a hot bath to be prepared. As Molly followed Alice, she reflected on the goodness of this kind and gentle woman who shared the common bond of having men at the battlefront facing death on a daily basis. Divided by fortune and class, they were united in their fears for those they held most dear to them.

  Within a day, Alice had been able to convince Miss Nightingale to employ Molly. She conveniently forgot to mention that Molly had been in prison, as only those of the most impeccable character were enlisted by Miss Nightingale.

  The young Welshwoman prepared to steam with the contingent of nurses, headed for the battlefront of the Crimea, and Alice personally went to the docks to see Molly off.

  *

  A newly minted lieutenant, barely seventeen years old, was appointed to fill the vacancy left by Jenkins in the regiment. Ian met him at his tent, and was saddened to see how unprepared he was for the task of leading men in battle. Lieutenant William Sutton was awkward – as were many young men of his age – and stuttered. Ian felt sorry for him, and had also learned that he was a second son to a wealthy merchant family. Ian thought he was like a puppy, and took Herbert aside after he had dismissed the newly appointed officer.

  ‘I want you to teach Mr Sutton as much as you can in the short time that we have before the next battle with the Russians.’

  Herbert now had the brutal experience of a major battle, and Ian was proud of how Herbert had proved himself an excellent junior officer. The older soldiers under his command respected him, and Colour Sergeant Leslie was devoted to Herbert.

  ‘I have heard that Mr Jenkins has departed for England,’ Herbert said. ‘I have also heard that his men lost all faith in him after that incident we had with the Cossacks. His men now accept your leadership as our company commander.’

  ‘Nice to hear,’ Ian said. ‘But when the bastard returns, he will be appointed above you and I. I fear that his incompetence will have its influence on us.’

  ‘You do know that Jenkins is distantly related to members of the Queen’s court,’ Herbert said.

  ‘I was not aware of that,’ Ian said, careful to cover his past by adding, ‘I must have been too long in the colonies.’

  As they chatted, the sound of artillery bombardment from both sides provided a constant background din. French, man-of-war naval ships fired from the sea at the formidable fortified town of Sebastopol, and on land, both Russian and allied guns were engaged in battery duels.

  Suddenly, the ground shook under Ian and Herbert’s feet, and the roar of an explosion, much louder even than when a magazine in the French lines exploded minutes earlier, shattered the day. Cheers rose from the throats of the British soldiers observing the artillery engagement. Both men stepped outside to see smoke rising from the centre of the besieged city.

  ‘A direct hit on an ammunition magazine,’ Herbert guessed, observing the huge pillar of smoke slowly rising above the town.

  ‘But it has not slowed down the Russian batteries,’ Ian added, as the cannons continued from within the fortifications of the city. ‘I fear the only way to take the city is with the use of an infantry assault.’ Both men fell silent, hoping that the massive allied artillery bombardments from land and sea on the stone walls of the city would finally cause the Russians to surrender.

  A week passed of continuing artillery bombardment. Ian knew that his company were growing restless as the stench of rotting bodies filled the air. Disease had reduced the British army ranks, and although Russian deserters provided intelligence that the city was on the verge of colla
pse, the allied armies were too weak to attack.

  Then everything changed towards the end of October, when the Russians began advancing towards Balaclava to break the Anglo–French siege. Rumours had persisted that they would attempt to do so, but when they did, the British army was caught off-guard.

  ‘Stand to!’ The order went down the lines of the regiment, and soldiers scrambled to grab their arms. Ian hurried from his tent, strapping on his sword and slinging his Enfield over his shoulder. He had been able to purchase a much heavier Colt Dragoon revolver from a trader who brought supplies from London, but also kept his gift from Samuel. Armed to the teeth, he glanced around to see that his senior NCOs were quickly assembling the soldiers for the fast march across the undulating, thistle-covered ground before the ridges ahead. Ian could see a distant mist of smoke rising from the opposite side of the rise before them, and clearly heard the roar of guns. He knew that the Turkish soldiers were appointed to hold the high ground, but to his dismay, he could see through his telescope the Turks leaving their redoubts as the Russian infantry poured over them.

  As Ian advanced ahead of his company under clear, blue skies, he could see the other companies of the regiment doing the same. Ian noted Herbert was carrying the regimental colours, the flag fluttering in the slight breeze. As Ian advanced, he sensed that this was not going to be like Alma. It was the Russians who were on the attack and had already seized many of the defences on the ridges and hills ahead. Beyond was a valley. Ian wondered what they would see when they were able to gain the high ground, with his fears attempting to overcome him.

  ‘C’mon lads!’ Ian yelled, and the fear began to leave him. A buzzing in his ears made him aware that his blood was rising, and he no longer experienced the fear of death. This was his mission in life – to lead men in battle. On the regiment’s right, Ian could see the Turkish soldiers being hunted down by squadrons of Cossacks, slashing with sabres, and cutting down the hapless Ottoman troops. He could hear the cries of the elated Russian cavalrymen, and the screams of the Turkish soldiers.