Redcoat's Rifle, page 1
Redcoat’s Rifle
Redcoat’s Rifle
Book 2 in the Soldier of the Queen Series
By
Griff Hosker
Published by Sword Books Ltd 2023
Copyright ©Griff Hosker First Edition 2023
The author has asserted their moral right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.
All Rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, copied, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written consent of the copyright holder, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
Dedication
To Betty, the newest member of the family and a most welcome one too.
Prologue
Brecon 1880
I had joined the British Army as a soldier of the Queen because an old soldier, Trooper, had told me he had enjoyed the life. He was right and my life was good after the Battle of Rorke’s Drift. I had returned from South Africa with just a service medal but I had been promoted to corporal and I had extra pay. I had spent a precious week of leave with my family and I was able to give them some of my back pay. My needs were less than theirs. They were comfortable but that was because they did without luxuries. I was able to give them a few more treats. I felt guilty that I was not supporting my family.
My nan had been close to death just before I returned and the whole family thought I had died at Isandlwana. My unexpected return brought joy to them all. Although my grandmother recovered after I walked through the door, it was a warning that her time amongst us was limited. I spent as much time as I could with her and my mother. I knew I only had a short leave and that I would be back at Brecon for we needed to train men to replace those who had fallen, not at Rorke’s Drift, but at Isandlwana. Many of the men I had served with like Fred Hitch had been invalided out of the battalion while others, like Hooky, had fulfilled their enlistment and left.
I said goodbye and took the familiar trains back to Brecon. Now that I was an NCO, I enjoyed more privileges. I was under a new sergeant, Sergeant Bob Williams. He had not been in South Africa and he treated me well. Colour Sergeant Windridge was also a familiar face to help me learn how to be an NCO.
I could not help smiling at the new men who had to learn the drills, recognise the bugle calls and work out how to keep the vast array of equipment in good order. I think I was more sympathetic to the men having had to endure the mysteries of service life relatively recently. Life was good until the day that Lieutenant Harding-Smythe arrived. He had not purchased his commission, the Cardwell reforms had eliminated that route, and every officer had to climb the slippery ladder through their own endeavours. Having said that, Lieutenant Harding-Smythe must have used the connections of his father, a retired general from the Crimean War to ease his way through officer training for he was an incompetent and arrogant officer. Captain Bromhead, who had commanded us at the Mission Station, had appeared to be a little aloof but that was largely due to his deafness. Lieutenant Harding-Smythe was just a nasty piece of work and a bully to boot. It did not help that when he arrived Bob Williams suffered a hernia and was in the battalion hospital and I had to deal with him, unaided. I think it might have been easier if I did not have two or three new men who needed to be treated gently. I was more than capable of that. Hooky had taught me how to use discipline but to be fair as well. The new lieutenant wanted to make his platoon the best in the battalion.
He began on day one and ordered me to take my section on a ten-mile forced quick march with full equipment. It was high summer and whilst I did not find it a problem the new lads did. Most of them came from poor homes and they were not as fit as they might have been. The officer did not march with us but used his horse to ride and chivvy those at the rear. Albert Hepplewhite was a thin lad from Lancashire and whilst he was keen he was patently unfit. I don’t think he had eaten well and was all skin and bone. The losses at Isandlwana meant we took men we would not have in previous drafts. I used the men who had been in South Africa to lead the march and I stayed at the rear to encourage Albert and another of the weaker men, Leonard Jones. Neither was fast and a gap opened up before us. I felt that the forced march was unfair as the new men had only joined us a fortnight earlier. They were still learning.
“Come on, boys. You are doing well. Take it one step at a time and just count your steps until we reach the top of that rise, eh?” Neither answered me as they were both out of breath but they gritted their teeth and tried to catch up with the redcoats ahead of us.
Lieutenant Harding-Smythe had stopped to allow his horse to drink from a farmer’s trough and I heard him galloping up behind. “This won’t do, Roberts! These two are forty yards behind the others. Make them march faster.”
“Sorry, sir, but they are doing the best that they can.”
“Nonsense. You just need to encourage them.” It happened that Albert was the last man and the lieutenant rode behind him and smacked his back hard with the cane he carried. The lieutenant was a good rider. The blow came as a shock to Albert who fell forward and hit the ground hard. I helped him to his feet. “Now you are even further behind. Get a move on man.”
Albert was hurt, his hands had scraped along the ground and his nose was bleeding. “Sir, the man needs medical attention.”
“Then he will have to run hard for we still have three miles to go.”
What I did next exacerbated the problem. I can see it now but at the time I felt sorry for the lad from Lancashire, “Here, Albert, give me your gun.” It was little enough but the gun he carried was heavy, it weighed nine pounds and with his grazed hands was a weight he could do without.
“What are you doing, corporal?”
“Sir, I am helping the private and trying to minimise the effect of the fall, sir.” I added, quietly, “Come on son. Not far to go.”
“Right Corp.”
It was a supreme effort but we gradually caught up with Jones who had almost caught up with the others. I wondered how and then realised that the rest of the section was helping us. They were looking after one of their own and had slowed down.
When we reached the camp I said, “Private Hepplewhite, go and see the MO. The rest of you fall in.”
I stood and watched as they shuffled into their lines. The lieutenant did not dismount but rode along the length of them. “I can see that I have inherited the worst and most slovenly soldiers in the army. Let me tell you that I will make you the best or I will break you. Do you understand?”
They remained silent and he glared at me, “Are they being insolent, corporal? Why do they not answer?”
“Against Queen’s regulations, sir.”
He rode over to me and put his cane under my chin, “I do not like you, Corporal Roberts. I shall see the colonel about having you removed from my section.”
I said, “That is your right, sir.”
He glared at me, “Tomorrow we shall see if they can drill. I want them all to spend the next three hours drilling. Do you understand, Corporal?”
“Yes sir!” he had made the mistake of keeping his face close to mine and when I barked my response, he recoiled. The men were not stupid enough to laugh out loud but smiles crept across their faces and he saw it.
When he had gone, I did as he had ordered. By the time we had finished, they were perfect, even Leonard Jones. As I dismissed them, he said, “Thanks for that, corporal. I’ll do better the next time.”
I smiled, “Don’t worry about it. If I had been asked to do a forced march in my first month, I would have still been puking my guts up.”
I sought the advice that night of Colour Sergeant Windridge. He shook his head, “Sorry about this, Jack, but there is nowt we can do about him. Hopefully, the colonel will see what he is like and have a quiet word. I will see Lieutenant Bourne and ask him to see the colonel.” The lieutenant had been Colour Sergeant Windridge’s predecessor and had been the best soldier in the regiment. I went to bed feeling better. What I did not know was the Colour Sergeant would not see the lieutenant until the next day.
The MO put salve on Hepplewhite’s hands and bandaged them. What he did not do was give him a chitty to excuse duty. I had the section up and ready before the lieutenant arrived for his inspection. It gave me the chance to talk to Albert, “Just make sure you obey every order promptly, eh lad? Don’t give the officer the excuse to find fault.”
“I do try, Corp, honest I do but sometimes I get left and right mixed up.”
“Which hand do you hold your pint in?”
I saw him frown and then beam. He nodded to his right hand, “This one Corp.”
“Then that is your right. When I say right then think pint hand. Can you do that?”
“Yes, Corp.”
The anger on the lieutenant’s face was still there as he strode belligerently up to the line of red-coated soldiers. I knew that their equipment was perfect, I had checked it myself. They were all ramrod straight and at attention. Their faces were set and as he approached, I said, “Section, attention!” I would not risk abbreviating the command as I normally did in case he took offence to that.
He marched along the line peering at every face and every uniform. Despite seeking he found no fault.
“Very well, Corporal Roberts, let us see them go thro
The drills went perfectly. Even Hepplewhite who had missed the extra training session I had put in, thanks to ‘pint hand’, managed.
“Now let us see them use their bayonets.”
“Prepare to fix bayonets.”
Every right hand went directly to the bayonet and was ready to draw as one.
“Fix bayonets.”
The bayonets all came out together and rose as one so that the socket was ready to be placed on the end of the rifle. The clang on the cobbles as Hepplewhite dropped his echoed across the parade ground. Even as Albert bent to retrieve the weapon, I saw the look of joy on the officer’s face. It had been the bandage on Hepplewhite’s hand that had caused the accident. That was clear to all but I don’t think that the lieutenant was bothered.
He strode over to me and handed me his cane. “Corporal Roberts, I want this man to bare his buttocks and for you to cane him. Twenty strokes should teach him a lesson.”
I stared ahead and did not take the proffered wooden cane.
“Did you not hear me, Roberts, I gave you an order?”
“Sir, it is against regulations to use physical punishment on any soldier. Flogging was banned some time ago.”
“This is just caning. I was caned at my school and it did me no harm.”
“No, sir. Hepplewhite has injured hands and he could not help what he did.”
The lowered voice was a warning, “So you are refusing to obey my order?”
“With respect, sir, yes.”
As it happened Colour Sergeant Windridge was close by and he was spied by Lieutenant Harding-Smythe. “Colour Sergeant.”
“Sir?”
“This man has refused to obey an order. I want him confined to barracks while I see the colonel.” He gave no explanation but turned and marched off. The colour sergeant had no idea what was going on. He said, “Refused an order, Jack?”
I nodded, “I was ordered to tell Hepplewhite to bare his buttocks so that I could cane him.”
The whole section nodded and it was some comfort to know that I had their support.
“Right, come with me. You lot, at ease and await my return.” As we headed for the barracks he said, “Soon have this little lot cleared up, Jack. I know there are officers who still like to birch or cane but the colonel doesn’t approve.” Once in the barracks, I sat on my bed. He grinned, “A morning off work is not a bad thing, eh Jack?”
I sat and I brooded. I was in the right and he was in the wrong. I did not want a morning off. I had a good section and I wanted to work with them. I hoped that the colonel would realise that the lieutenant was a bad apple. There were ways and means for the colonel to put the martinet out of harm’s way. He could make him adjutant and let him deal with paperwork. We did not really need an officer. Although Captain Bromhead had been a rock at Rorke’s Drift it had been the steel of the non-commissioned officers and chosen men that had won the day.
The noonday meal came and I was still confined to barracks. I had expected to be back with my section within the hour. When Colour Sergeant Windridge returned, Captain Bromhead accompanied him. “Come with us, lad. The colonel wants a word.” The colour sergeant’s tone was not encouraging. It sounded like the tolling of a death knell.
As we left Captain Bromhead said, loudly as he always did, “Sorry about this, Roberts, but the lieutenant has connections at the war office and the colonel has the regiment to think about.”
“Sir, it was not a lawful order.”
Colour Sergeant Windridge said, “We all know that, lad, but there is still a great deal of blame attached to the regiment because of Isandlwana. Our regiment managed to avoid amalgamation in the Cardwell reforms, the colonel…”
We had reached the office and Colour Sergeant Windridge flicked some imaginary fluff from my uniform. “Keep your face straight and your mouth shut.”
“Yes, Colour Sergeant.”
I was marched into the office and ordered to take off my cap. Lieutenant Harding-Smyth smirked at me. I kept my eyes fixed on the map of Wales above the colonel’s head.
“Corporal Roberts, Lieutenant Harding-Smythe has made a very serious accusation. He attests that you have tried to undermine him at every turn.” My mouth almost dropped open. “He says that on the march yesterday, you carried a soldier’s gun and allowed men to lag behind others and that today you refused to obey an order.” It was clear that I was not going to be allowed to speak for he went on quickly. “We cannot have dissension in the regiment.” He looked up and smiled, “Captain Bromhead has spoken on your behalf. Perhaps you might be better off in another regiment. The Shropshire Foot has a need for experienced men, especially non-commissioned officers for they are about to go on foreign service. You are to be transferred to that battalion with immediate effect. You will still be a soldier of the queen but you can use your experience to help the Shropshires become better.”
That was not good enough for the bully, “Sir, I protest. I want Roberts to lose his stripes.”
There was steel in the voice of the colonel, “Lieutenant, your father may have sway in Whitehall but here I run this regiment, now take Colour Sergeant Windridge who will assist you today.”
“Sir.”
“And have Hepplewhite sent to the MO again, Colour Sergeant.”
“Sir.”
The silence in the room felt oppressive. I had been told to remain silent but I could not, “Sir, this is unfair. The officer should be punished and not me.”
The colonel leaned back and put his fingers together, almost as though he was at prayer. “Roberts, you are highly thought of in this regiment but we cannot afford a scandal and if you remain here then there would be ripples that would show us in a poor light. You have the chance for a new start with a new regiment. I hear they are being sent to India in the next year or so. You are a good soldier and could make a sergeant within the next ten years.”
India! I was being sent abroad so that the lieutenant and I would never cross paths again.
Captain Bromhead said, “It is unfair, Roberts, and I have done my best but we have the regiment to think of. We need to build on the success at Rorke’s Drift and put Isandlwana behind us.”
It was done. That I had the sympathy of the whole battalion just made my punishment worse. Poor Albert was particularly upset. I did not know if that was because he would be left at the mercy of the martinet or was genuinely upset. My world had been turned upside down and I could not think straight. The next day I was given my railway warrant and took a train to Shrewsbury. I had thought to be a soldier in the 24th for my whole career. I was wrong and as I sat in the carriage I wondered if I had chosen the wrong career. Was it too late to do something about it?
Chapter 1
Shrewsbury 1881
The bulky manilla packet, sealed with wax, the colonel had given me was my pass into the barracks at Shrewsbury Castle. The colonel was away and the adjutant, an aged officer, Captain Philips, was the one to free me. He had the office door closed by his orderly and invited me to take a seat. He had the look of an old soldier who was coming to the end of his time in the army. His office felt like a comfortable study. He lit his pipe and studied me and then broke the seal and began to read the contents. It was my service file but I could not help but notice letters there. He glanced up from time to time as he read each document and then placed it neatly in a pile.
When he had finished reading, he smiled as he leaned back in his chair. “Roberts, I have served in this regiment my whole career and I have never heard a shot fired in anger. When the regiment was in India, I was here training the replacements. I have read, with interest, this letter from your colonel and Captain Bromhead.” He tapped the letters, “You fought at the battle where so many VCs were won. I envy you. I shall never know how brave or cowardly I am. I shall grow roses and wonder.” He leaned forward, “There are two pieces of news which should interest you. First, this regiment is to be amalgamated with another. Second, I have heard that we are to be sent abroad.” He shook his head, “Perhaps my chance to discover what is within me, eh? I know that you regard this move to a new regiment as a punishment. I can see it in your face and looking at the letters I can understand those feelings. Let me say that it is not. We really do need men like you. When this regiment fights you may well be one of the few who has endured battle. You were at Rorke’s Drift.” He said it as though my mere presence there elevated me. I nodded, “And while the newspapers tell us how glorious the battle was, I know it must have been bloody.”
