Blood and Famine (Man of Conflict Series, Book 4) Read online

  Man of Conflict Series

  BOOK FOUR

  Digital edition published in 2016 by

  The Electronic Book Company

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  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this ebook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this ebook and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. This ebook contains detailed research material, combined with the author's own subjective opinions, which are open to debate. Any offence caused to persons either living or dead is purely unintentional. Factual references may include or present the author's own interpretation, based on research and study. The cover image is adapted from an original photograph by Loozrboy @ flickr.

  Blood and Famine

  Copyright © 2016 by Andrew Wareham

  All Rights Reserved

  Contents:

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Introduction

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  By the Same Author

  Introduction

  Blood and Famine: Septimus is sent back to Portugal with his battalion to garrison a castle where, much to the distress of the resident nobleman, he carries out the official scorched-earth policy to deny food and shelter to the invading French Army. Brutal raids and skirmishes ensue as they seek to force the French back across the border.

  Author’s Note: I have written and punctuated Blood and Famine in a style reflecting English usage in novels of the period, when typically, sentences were much longer than they are in modern English. Editor’s Note: Andrew’s book was written, produced and edited in the UK where some of the spellings and word usage vary slightly from U.S. English.

  Man of Conflict Series

  BOOK FOUR

  Chapter One

  Harvest time came and Septimus strode his new acres, Higby’s land that was now his. He made his final plans for the sheepwalk, which was to be improved over much of its acreage by ploughing and sowing better grasses. Some slopes were too steep to be worked and there was a small pit where flints had been dug and which was full of blackthorn and brambles; the remainder was to be properly modernised. There was seed available now, could be bought in from merchants in the county towns, that produced a hardy, nutritious grass that was far better for the sheep. A flock of new breed sheep as well; he was not yet certain whether it was better to farm for mutton or for wool – he must seek George’s opinion on prices.

  A few acres of the lower ground could perhaps be put to apple trees to add to his orchard – he must take advice on that locally, they might not grow well on this soil, he did not know.

  He was interrupted by the garden boy, sent running up to fetch him.

  “Beg parding, sir, but youse wanted, sir. Messenger, sir, what got a red coat on.”

  There was an orderly from the barracks with a note from Major Taft.

  “Bloody hell! Damned fools!”

  He gave orders for his horse and called for Cooper and Dinesh.

  “Full set of uniforms, Dinesh, working and dress. Cooper, we shall be out in the villages down towards the New Forest – rioting for some reason. A week at least in support of the civil power.”

  Cooper ran to fetch pistols and his own gear, to ready all for a week of living rough.

  Marianne waddled her way through to him, saying that it could be far worse – they might have been sent up to the North Country instead.

  That was true enough; there was machine-breaking in the towns as well as rick-burning in the countryside.

  They marched and showed themselves in the villages across the west of the County and into Wiltshire and the north of Dorset, knowing they were wasting their time. A battalion offered a threat, but only if it could identify the trouble-makers. Farm labourers who blacked-up their faces at night and burned out their employers looked wholly innocent after a wash in the morning; it was impossible to identify them after the event, and there were too many vulnerable farms to put sentries on each.

  Perhaps a few men were frightened, a few would-be rioters stayed at home; more likely they had made their point and had terrified the farmers sufficiently to gain an increase in their wages. Whichever it was, the rioting fizzled out and the ricks remained whole and the battalion marched back to Winchester.

  It had been a useful enough exercise, Septimus supposed. His nine hundred had stayed together quite well; another few score and he would have a full-strength battalion and be ready to campaign. Wellesley was busy in Spain, or so he had heard, and there was the chance of serving under him again.

  Septimus marched the First Battalion into the barracks in Winchester, past the parade ground where the Second Battalion was drilling its recruits, some five hundred of them, the first two companies almost ready to join the ranks, if he could only pry them loose from their colonel.

  A lieutenant from Horse Guards presented himself as soon as Septimus had dismissed the battalion.

  “Beg pardon, Sir Septimus. I arrived in Winchester yesterday afternoon, sir, but was told you would return this morning so waited here, sir. Orders, sir.”

  The young man, belatedly aware that he should really have sought Septimus out on the previous evening, saluted and presented his sealed packet.

  “Thank you. I would be obliged if you would remain a while longer in case I must make immediate reply.”

  The orders were simple in outline.

  Sir Septimus was to march his battalion to Poole Harbour where he would, eight days from the date of these orders, discover troopships and escort awaiting him to voyage to Lisbon, there to join Viscount Wellington’s army. He was to make his numbers up from his Second Battalion, both of men and of officers should any be short. Various other papers detailed arrangements for stores and transport; each item it seemed was the responsibility of a different Board.

  Should Sir Septimus prefer, he might remain in England on half-pay. That option was always available to the recipient of orders for foreign service, and would always result in the individual remaining unemployed for the remainder of his possibly long career if the battalion had been sent to war. A refusal of garrison service might be seen as innocent, a matter of personal convenience; rejection of the opportunity to fight was regarded as a reflection upon one’s spirit.

  Septimus shoved his head out of his office door and bellowed.

  “Major Taft! Major Perceval!”

  They had made their way to the Mess having been told of the presence of the staff-lieutenant; they were waiting for the summons.

  “Lisbon – next bloody week!”

  “Jolly short notice, sir!”

  “It is indeed. You do not have to come, though I much wish that you will.”

  Both said that they were committed to the battalion; besides that, they would rather like to take a punch back at the French after the treatment they had taken from them.

  “They owe me for half an ear, sir!”

  Major Taft, who had grown his hair longer to cover the loss, was inclined to be belligerent; Perceval merely thought he would like ‘to get a lic
k in at a Frog or two’.

  “We are to make our numbers up from the Second Battalion, gentlemen. A precise account, if you will be so good, for the morning. The actual shortage for each company, and a list of those men who are too old or frail really to go back to Portugal. There are some who can still stand on parade but would not do so well on campaign; they could be useful in training up the recruits and so should not simply be dismissed from service. We could plunder the Second Battalion of at least two hundred fit men if we put our minds to it. A list as well of uniforms to be made good; shoes especially. We lost men on the tracks back to Corunna for their shoes falling apart on them so that they became barefoot and then frost bitten; I do not wish that ever to happen again.”

  The majors ran to chase their subordinates into action and Septimus called for the Quartermaster and dumped the great mass of paper from Horse Guards in his hands.

  “What of the mule train, Mr Black?”

  “Fifty plump and strong, sir, from Portugal. I have as well been able to lay my hands on a few of pack ponies.”

  Septimus made no comment – he had made no money available for such a purpose and he did not want to know what illegalities Black had committed to achieve it.

  “Very good. The question of fuel arises. You will remember that firewood was in short supply in Portugal.”

  “Charcoal, sir. I have been able to put together a reserve supply, thinking we must eventually be sent out to Spain or Portugal again. I can purchase more, sir, against paper to be redeemed by Horse Guards. We shall be out of the country before the bills actually reach London and they can query them. Arguments can then be conducted at a distance, with far more success, as a general rule.”

  “Too complex for me, sir! I shall plead financial ignorance!”

  Home after seeing the Quartermaster and despatching the lieutenant back to his masters with the message that all was in hand and the battalion would be in Poole on the appointed day.

  “Yes, dear. I do realise that we have been home for little more than six months and that I am still less robust than I once was.”

  He did not believe for a moment that he was an ounce less fit and strong than he had been, but he had more sense than to argue that point.

  “You could beg for a year at least to recover your strength, Septimus!”

  “I could, but there are many other colonels in this country, the great bulk of them with far more seniority than I possess, who would be very happy to go out to Portugal. I must not refuse this opportunity, my dear. I must lead my men for a few more years yet and then who knows what might not happen? If I am eventually to be given a brigade then, when the wars are over, I may look to take my half-pay and accept a place on one of the Boards in London. A thousand a year in salary and twice as much in perquisites and double that in fees and commissions offered by those seeking favours, and every opportunity to get in on the latest thing in London, or so I am told by Major Perceval. Both the Percevals and the Tafts will be willing to do a favour or two as well. We may look to a golden future, and the children will gain so from that!”

  It was the way of life, she was forced to admit. They had the opportunity to advance the family to the benefit of all succeeding generations. Septimus had already progressed from merchant-class to County; there was now the chance to prepare the ground for little Jack to make the step into the aristocracy and true power and wealth.

  “You must, I admit, sir. But I wish the necessity was not there.”

  “There is no choice, my dear. When my father put my unwilling feet onto the path of glory he took all other options from me. I must go where the flag takes me now, and hope that it will be a long way from the place a merchant’s younger son might have looked for.”

  Two of the captains found that they really would prefer not to return to Portugal – the Iberian air was bad for them, they feared. Septimus bowed his head in grave agreement; they must know their own constitutions better than he did.

  “You may transfer to the Second Battalion, gentlemen. I am sure that we will be able to discover two men there who might wish to go in your places. If not, then a word at Horse Guards will undoubtedly fill the gaps.”

  The ensigns and lieutenants presented no difficulties; all were very willing to go to war, for the excitement as well as the professional opportunities they might find.

  Majors Perceval and Taft presented demands for a total of one hundred and eighty men having discovered more than seventy who were not yet fit to campaign. Septimus made his way to the offices of the Second Battalion.

  “We are off to war in seven days, Colonel Jevons. You will be happy to know that Horse Guards has ordered me to make my numbers up from you. I have some seventy who will be left behind as unfit, possibly to be discharged if they cannot ever regain their health, but all of them able to provide an example on the parade ground. I must relieve you of one hundred and eighty men, sir. And your band. Most of ours died in the Retreat; many worked themselves to death with the Surgeon’s party.”

  Bandsmen acted as stretcher-bearers and surgeon’s assistants in battle; they were essential adjuncts to the battalion.

  “But we have only just purchased new clash-pans and a Jingling Johnny, Colonel Pearce!”

  “Well you may certainly retain the bells to form the base for your new ensemble, Colonel Jevons, but the cymbals and horns and woodwinds and drums I must have, sir. And your best-trained men, nine score of them! I wish as well to offer two of your captains the opportunity of professional advancement, sir, leaving a pair of mine in their place.”

  Jevons knew he could not fight; where the Second Battalion maintained the depot then it must provide men to the ranks of the First.

  “I do not know who will wish to go among the officers, Colonel Pearce, but I will ask if any will. A and B Companies total one hundred and sixty men, so you must select twenty from C as well.”

  Taft and Perceval accompanied the sergeant-major to the Second Battalion’s C Company in the morning. The companies were formed of men in the same stage of training. C was thus some three months behind A in the practice of its skills.

  “Pick out the old soldiers, sir, would be my way of doing it. There are always a few among the recruits, sir, mostly deserters from other battalions who have found they don’t like the Army much but can’t abide by civilian life.”

  Both Taft and Perceval knew enough to give the sergeant-major a free hand; they stood back as he paraded C Company and put them through a few of the basic evolutions before lining them in their ranks again.

  “C Company, stand at ease. All old soldiers will take one pace forward and then dress to the left, reporting to the sergeant at the side of the parade ground. Wait for the command! Old soldiers, dress… left!”

  Eight men stamped, took a pace forward and then turned in style and marched to the sergeant.

  “C Company… Attention!”

  The sergeant-major stared accusingly across the seventy or so of men.

  “For the benefit of the hard-of-hearing, the stupid and the very clever: on the command, old soldiers will dress left. Do not make me come among you and pick you out!”

  Another score stepped forward at the repeated command.

  The sergeant-major led all twenty-eight into the First Battalion’s barracks.

  “Beg pardon, Sergeant-Major, but the colonel ordered us to select twenty men.”

  “Yes, sir. I have not forgotten that fact, Major Perceval, sir. You will see, sir, if you count, that we have exactly one score of men here, sir.”

  Taft poked Perceval in the ribs and jerked his head towards the Mess. The two officers retired for a drink and the NCO took his prizes away.

  “You know, Taft, I’m damned sure there were more than twenty there!”

  “Of course there were, old chap! But I’m not about to argue with the sergeant-major! How about you?”

  Perceval considered the point.

  “What do you say to a brandy? It’s not too early, is it?”
r />   The men from the Second Battalion were divided out between the ten companies of the First and were further spread as equally as possible between the platoons; there was to be no possibility of cliques forming.

  There followed five busy days of uniform exchanges and the checking of every man’s musket and equipment. Many of the muskets were found to be muzzle worn from the repeated rattling of the ramrod on the relatively soft iron; others had corroded patches in their barrels; the men were often unwilling to change them because of the work they had put into polishing them and waxing their butts till they gleamed, but they were forced to accept new. The bayonets were examined as well; some were found to be worn thin, ready to snap, through repeated sharpening and polishing.

  By the end of the week the battalion was ready to march and Septimus had spoken to every officer and sergeant, emphasizing all that he expected of them. The pair of new captains particularly had their functions explained to them; both were young in their rank, having purchased as soon as their colonel had permitted.

  “Mr Boldre and Mr Paisley, welcome to the First Battalion, gentlemen! We are, as you know, about to go to war in Portugal, under the command of Sir Arthur Wellesley, now I believe gazetted as Viscount Wellington. We are very fortunate! We will undoubtedly see much of battle under his orders, and I for one will be very surprised if we do not see frequent victory. The battalion will play a part in those victories, a significant part, I trust. To that end every company must be equally efficient in its musketry and in maintaining its numbers of fit and well-trained men. You must and shall be rigorous in your duty, gentlemen! Your men are to be fed and given shelter in the field. We have tents, unusually, due to the repeated generosity of the burgesses of Winchester who first bought them and then replaced the losses of the Corunna campaign. Be very sure that those tents accompany your men – a mule or two of your own will make sense. It will be wise to carry a company reserve of made cartridges as well as a week’s rations in case we are isolated at any time. You will maintain discipline, as goes without saying, but I have no wish to discover the cat in use for any except major transgressions; a man who has been flogged will find it hard to march his fifteen miles with his full pack and musket besides. I must and shall support you if you put men in front of my table on a charge – but think very carefully before you do so!”