B00EF19YY8 EBOK, page 8
They had been in the Crimea for three months and he hated every inch of it. It was dirty and disease ridden. He did not like any of his fellow officers and he positively despised his company. They had suffered more men dead through disease than through fighting and Arthur could not countenance such a waste. Neil, his servant and former estate manager, tried to make the best of the conditions and the life they led but it was hard. He knew that his master would have preferred infantry charges and ‘derring do’ rather than sitting behind entrenchments waiting for an attack. He hated the dirt and the mud; in fact he could think of nothing he liked about this particular war. It was disappointing given the fact that he had dreamed of nothing but a war for so many years. Now that one arrived, it was the wrong type of war. He had, thoughtfully, ensured that all of his financial assets were secreted about his person. In London the lawyers had deemed that the estate had been bankrupt and were not looking for the son of the dead bankrupt. He had enough to start a new life and India and America were his two choices.
When the young Lord Astbury, a fresh faced lieutenant newly arrived from England, arrived in the regiment to replace the unfortunate nephew of the Bishop of Wells who had succumbed to dysentery, then things looked up for Arthur. He managed to inveigle himself into the good graces of the impressionable young man. The young lieutenant became almost infatuated with the dashing captain who appeared to be so worldly wise and knowledgeable about military matters. Even the slightly broken nose and off centre jaw were seen to be the results of glorious combat in the service of the Queen. Only Neil knew the truth. The devious Arthur managed to persuade the young man to place his not inconsiderable fortune in Arthur St.John Beauregard’s strongbox. When the young lieutenant was sent on a suicide patrol by his superior officer, Captain Beauregard, and failed to return then questions were asked of the mentor and father figure to the heir to a fortune. This time the family was powerful enough to ask questions and the wily captain could not wriggle out of answering what were proving to be hard questions to answer.
Captain Beauregard and his servant disappeared one snowy night in early November the day before the battle of Inkerman. The confusion of the time meant that his loss was reported as missing in action. Many men died at Inkerman and the confused nature of the battle meant that records were not as complete as they might have otherwise been. Thus the resourceful Captain disappeared from sight. Had the war been going better for the allies then, perhaps more attention would have been paid to the relationship between the two officers, but it was Lord Astbury’s family who grieved for the young war hero dying to defend his country. However they never forgot the name of St.John Beauregard. It was not Jack Hogan only who had a score to settle with him.
Cork
Caitlin often wondered about Jack. Every time Black Bill returned home she asked him about her brother and was told that he was living in Charleston and doing well. That statement was normally a prelude to violent and aggressive sex but Caitlin comforted herself with the knowledge that she was doing it for her brother and, as such, was no sin.
When her master, for that was what he was her master, had returned to sea Caitlin found that she quite enjoyed being the housekeeper. To be fair to Black Bill, he was generous with her allowance and she had nice rather than fine clothes. She made the house welcoming and pleasant to be in for his infrequent visits home. She made sure that she took every precaution to prevent a child. Her friends at the whorehouse had given her the tips for that. She knew that a child would result in her eviction and she did not relish the thought of going back to earning her living on her back. She just wished that Jack would write to her although as she could neither read nor write she did not know how he would manage but she knew that Jack was the clever one in the family and, somehow, she knew that he would be able to read and to write.
It came as a huge shock when Caitlin found out about the death of Black Bill when the bailiffs came to repossess the house. Caitlin was not as clever as Jack but she was resourceful and she had put by some money. She had not spent all the money Black Bill had left for her on the house and she had been careful when buying so that she was not the pauper she would have otherwise been. She decided not to risk the whorehouse a second time; she had been lucky the first time and found a man to keep her but she was older now and, although still pretty, she had lost her youth and that was what men desired. She went, instead to Stumpy. He had been her one point of contact when Bill was away and she had changed her views about him. She had learned that he was a kind man and he deeply cared for Jack. They shared that view and talking to Stumpy made Jack seem closer somehow.
She found herself asking Stumpy’s advice and the old man was honest enough to give her the truth, “There’s nothing for you here is there? If I were you I would take my money and pay for passage to Charleston. The last I heard Jack was there.”
She had looked puzzled at that. “But he has been there for years hasn’t he?”
“I am afraid Black Bill lived up to his name and he used Jack as a sailor. He left Black Bill a couple of years ago now and he lives on a plantation in Charleston.”
That decided her and, with Stumpy’s help, she began to seek a berth on a westbound ship.
Chapter 5
Jack
Charleston 1861
Things had not gone well for Captain Boswell in the years following the loss of the Rose of Tralee. He found it hard to get the slaves that were in such high demand. His home produced slaves became his main source of income. With the election of Abraham Lincoln his fortunes took a turn for the better. The number of slaves arriving in the United States of America had dried up and the Captain’s foresight in breeding had paid off. He became even richer than he had been but he was still not accepted by society. His troop of men, now grown to sixteen, was the best armed and best trained in the whole state and that included the regulars. I was one of the more experienced members of the elite team. When the Henry Rifle Carbine had been introduced in 1860, despite the expense, Captain Boswell had purchased one for each of us. We became highly proficient with the weapon that they said they could load on Sunday and shoot all week. Danny Murphy confided in his men that they were the only men outside of the Union Army to possess such a fearsome weapon. We all became proficient in its use and all of us sported two Navy Colts in our saddle holsters and one on the hip. The sabre he gave us was attached to our saddles but none of us felt comfortable with the ungainly weapon. We did not know it at the time but the Captain must have been planning to form his own unit even then. He had the money and he was a true southern patriot. He was more than happy to use the money he had made in slaves to arm his men. We were in no doubt that he would form, as many rich men did, his own regiment and we would all be members of that regiment.
The whole company had ridden to Charleston to await the arrival of another slave ship. We had done the same thing on five previous occasions but the Union Navy and the Royal Navy were cooperating and we had sought the slave ships in vain. Our men had hung around the waterfront taverns talking about the escalating tensions between the slave states and those that wished to abolish the trade. As we peered out across the harbour we were all amazed when we saw shells raining on the fort. We were not to know that Carolina had seceded from the union and General Beauregard had demanded the surrender of the fort. It was bizarre to watch the start of a war which cost so many American lives from the waterfront bar in Charleston. It was as though we were watching a show on the stage. That day changed my life forever!
We headed back to the estate and we did not see Captain Boswell for many days. Danny Murphy kept our training regime up and we practised both shooting and skirmishing. As we lay in the meadow resting, after a particularly fierce fight he said, “I think, lads that we will be fighting soon. I know the Captain. If you wish to fight for the Yankees then let me know. I know that he will allow it. We all know what a gentleman he is. Otherwise I think we will be for the south”
It is a testament to the loyalty that none of us thought for one moment of deserting our leader. To us the loyalty to the man who had paid us for years was greater than that of an ideal.
When he did return he did not look happy. We discovered the details later on from Danny. It appeared that Captain Boswell had offered his services to the Confederate Government and, because of his history, had been refused out of hand. None of us could understand that. He was a great and proven leader but the spectre of his disgrace still hung over him. We wondered what would happen. All of us knew that he was not a man to let others dictate his options. A month after Fort Sumter he gathered every person on his estate together, blacks and whites alike and explained his plan.
He stood and smiled at us all. “My family, my friends, my people. It seems that the Government of Jefferson Davis does not wish to employ me and my men as a military force but, despite their views I will not allow the damned Yankees to ride roughshod over us.” He turned to the slaves and servants who were all seated together around Jarvis. “To my darkies I say, if you feel I have mistreated you in any way then please, leave my service and go north with my blessing.”
There was a silence and then Jarvis looked around and said, “No suh. We are all happy to be here and work with you Mr Boswell.”
The Captain nodded. “Thank you for that and I will continue to look after you so long as you wish. And to you, my soldiers; if you feel you cannot follow me into battle and fight for the Confederacy then there is a purse of gold for each of you and no hard feelings.”
We all looked at each other and grinned. To a man we chanted, “No sir. We are your men.”
He grinned that boyish smile of his. “Then, Jarvis, I would like you to continue to run my estate as profitably as you can and Mr Murphy, get my men ready Boswells Raiders go to war!” We were as excited as children; this would be a great game.
We now had eighteen men with the Captain and Danny Murphy as our leaders. The estate tailor made us all grey uniforms and somehow the captain procured kepis for us. He had the three gold bars designating the rank of Captain sewn on to his collar while Danny had the three stripes of a sergeant. I have to confess I found the wool to be both uncomfortable and hot but I felt proud to be wearing the uniform. Finally, he had a small cavalry standard made. In the top corner was the national flag with the seven starts whilst the rest of the flag was a white background with a snarling wildcat in the middle. The Captain began to refer to us as his wildcats and, when we eventually fought the Yankees, they used the name too but they used it as an insult..
The battles that first year of the war were far to the north in Virginia, close to Washington. Our leader chafed at the bit, desperate to be part of the action. He read the newspapers voraciously seeking out information about the cavalry and he would cut out any references to J.E.B. Stuart whom he thought the best chance the south had of defeating the northern war machine.
In October we heard that there was to be an army of Northern Virginia with three divisions. What attracted the Captain’s attention was the fact that Stuart would command one of the cavalry wings. That was enough for him. Leaving Jarvis to run his estate the twenty of us took three slaves and ten horses with supplies and headed north towards the Shenandoah Valley. I was heading for the heartland of the south and I was excited. I remembered Blackie Jones’ stories about the Valley and the Blue Ridge. I would be seeing them myself, first hand.
Once we left Charleston, we found ourselves welcomed everywhere as heroes marching to fight the damned Yankees. They did not listen to the name Captain Boswell, they just saw a well armed cavalry force riding north and we were greeted with hospitality all the way from Charleston through Charlotte and on to Roanoke in Virginia. The Captain was as happy then as I had ever seen him. This was his dream, to be a hero of the south and his exile in Carolina had denied him the opportunity. The closer we came to his home in Lynchburg the more apprehensive he became. We had passed through every town on the way north and been fed and watered but we skirted Lynchburg as his face and name would be known. We slept in the tents he had brought with us.
Sergeant Murphy made light of it. “Ah sure, and it’s a good thing. We would have had to learn how to put them up and sleep in them anyway. This way we can do it in comfort. “
During the week it took us to travel around the busy town he was sullen and withdrawn but, in hindsight it was good training for we learned how to become invisible and become the wildcats who struck in the night.
It took us over two weeks to reach the outskirts of Winchester and we reached southern limits in December. It was cold there and we were grateful for our woollen jackets and the greatcoats we had on our horses. For the first time we were refused shelter. We reached Kernstown towards late afternoon and the captain rode up to the farm, Pritchard’s farm which stood in a prominent position above the small hamlet and church. He asked Mr Pritchard if we could shelter in his barn but the farmer told the captain that he wanted nothing to do with the war. He and his family wished to be left alone. Captain Boswell merely touched his slouch hat and led us to the valley to the west across the Opequon. There we found a clearing in the forest and we erected tents for the first time since leaving our home. We were sheltered by Sandy Ridge , there was nearby water and we were hidden from view.
There was game a plenty in the forest and we spent two days hunting while the Captain and the Sergeant left to find Stuart to discover if we could join the army. Harry was an excellent hunter and I learned much from him. I had thought I was a hunter until I met him but killing rabbits did not compare with stalking and killing a fully grown deer. We took our carbines and headed up the ridge. I noticed how he would smell the air and feel the breeze. He whispered to me. “Always have the animal smell coming to you. That way he doesn’t know you are there.” We reached a spot on the ridgeline which seemed to satisfy Harry. “Climb up into the trees. Animals are dumb and they look down not up.” He peered at me. “Only shoot when you are certain that you can make a kill. It is better if we can shoot when there are a couple of them. You take the nearest and I will take the furthest. Right?”
“Right Harry.” I was keen to climb and begin hunting. The rabbits I had trapped in Ireland seemed pathetic now that I was about to shoot my first deer. We had discarded our hats but it was cold enough to keep on our cavalry jackets. I did not feel the cold as much as the captain and those born in America. Ireland and England were always cold and normally wet. I stared at the ground intently and occasionally flashed a glance at Harry. I saw him point and I glimpsed the three deer as they approached our stand. There were two females and a young one. They were searching for berries on the blackberry bushes. Most had been eaten or were old but there were still one or two left and the treasure was sought by the hungry creatures.
I took a bead on the one at the front. Once they were level with my tree I knew that they might be able to smell us, although our position up the tree would confuse them. I aimed at a spot just behind the head. I had been told it was the best target. I took a breath and gently squeezed. There was a slight recoil and a puff of powder. A half second later I heard a second shot and then a third. I chambered another round but I could see the three animals all lay dead. Two of them had lumbered a few yards away but the one I had shot lay where it had been hit.
Harry slapped me on the back. “Well done Irishman. That was a cracking shot. Now let’s get them back.” He looked ruefully at them. “These are big buggers.”
We cut three saplings and tied the animals to them. When we lifted them it felt like the first time I had taken a reef in canvas; I thought my arms and back would break. The saplings bent alarmingly but they held and took the weight. There was a cheer from the men when we reached the camp. There were others there, as well as Harry, who were skilled at skinning and gutting. Harry threw me one of the skins. “Here Mick; when this is seasoned you can make a good coat from it.”
One of the slaves, Aaron, walked up to me, grinning. “Here suh. I will tan it for you. Perhaps I can have the cut offs?”
“Sure thing.” I was surprised to watch him lay the skin out and then piss all over it.
He saw me and smiled, “A few days of this and then stretch it out. You’ll have a fine piece of hide.”
One of the deer was cooked for our meal while the other two were salted and dried. We might soon have to live off the land. That was my first venison and I thought it delicious. Harry had the slaves cook one of the hearts for me and one for him and, along with the liver, was one of the best meals I had ever devoured.
Captain Boswell and Sergeant Murphy rode in two days later. They were not happy. Captain Boswell went to his tent and Sergeant Murphy gathered us around him. “It seems that General Lee has made it clear that we cannot join the regular army. It seems the captain’s family are powerful and have made a stand. They have funded two regiments and General Lee is not willing to risk losing the support of such a rich family.” He saw our disappointed faces and he smiled. “Sure and it is not all bad news. Colonel Stuart wants us to scout, unofficially, of course, north of the Potomac.” He gestured us to move closer to him. “And of course cause a little mayhem amongst the Yankees!”
That brought a cheer. We were all young men and we were desperate to fight for our leader. His war was our war. Personally I had nothing against the Yankees but I equated them with the English landowners who had thrown my family off our land. It made it easier for me to do what I knew I must do- kill Yankees.
