Young bloods

'Now that is something to see!' Richard grinned. 'Quite the man.'

Anne raised her hands and beckoned to him. 'Arthur, I had no idea that you could look so… so gallant! You'll have to use that sword of yours to fight the young ladies off.'

'In that case, you have my word that the blade shall never see the light of day,' Arthur laughed. 'But I doubt I shall be able to afford much entertainment on an ensign's pay. Eight shillings a day! It's a wonder that the army can attract any new officers. I had no idea that offering to fight for one's country was charity work.'

Richard punched him lightly on the shoulder. 'I agree with you. Eight shillings a day is hardly a fortune. So you must earn quick promotion, bed and wed a wealthy woman, or we must find you as many powerful patrons as possible. The present Duke of Rutland will not be with us much longer. But there are others who owe me favours.'

'Good,' Arthur replied. 'Because, in the absence of war I'll need all the help I can get.'

At nine o'clock the next morning Ensign Arthur Wesley presented himself at the barrack gates with his official letter of introduction. A corporal conducted him to the officers' mess and he was immediately taken through to the office of the 73rd's adjutant. Captain Braithwaite was a middle-aged, middle-weight man with a sour expression and a face blotchy with burst blood vessels from too much drinking. As Arthur entered his office the captain was walking up and down the room in great strides. He glanced up at the new arrival as he turned and strode back across the room.

'New boots,' he explained. 'The shoemaker claims to have a technique for enhancing the comfort, but I can't feel a bloody thing.' He stopped close to Arthur and scowled angrily. 'Man's a confounded liar!'

'Yes, sir.'

'Who the bloody hell are you?'

'Ensign Arthur Wesley, reporting for duty, sir.' Arthur held out his document.

'Where's the salute then, Wesley? I'm your superior officer. Come on, man, salute me!'

Arthur reproduced the effort he had made at the barracks gate and the captain snorted with derision. 'You'll need to work on that, Wesley. Before you meet the colonel.'

'Yes, sir. Is the colonel at headquarters? I was given to understand that I was supposed to report to him.'

'The colonel's not here. Went to a party with him last night and he disappeared with some slip of a girl. Still shagging her senseless, if I'm any judge of the man.'

'Oh…'

'So you'll have to let me write you into the books. You'll be the replacement for that fool, Ensign Vernon. Got himself crushed by an ammunition cart.That was three months ago.We applied for a new ensign and, well, you can see how swiftly the bureaucratic cogs turn in the army. It's a wonder we got a replacement at all, I suppose. So you are most welcome, Mr Wesley.'

'Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.'

'Now, if you don't mind, I have some boots to return to my shoemaker. My staff sergeant will take care of the paperwork. Then he can show you around the barracks and you can be introduced to that rabble you'll be commanding.' He turned his head and shouted over Arthur's shoulder. 'Phillips!'

'Yes, sir!' A voice answered from another doorway and a moment later a tall, thin and perfectly turned-out sergeant stamped to attention.

'This is Ensign Wesley. Get him entered on the strength and written into the pay books. He's taking over MrVernon's position in Captain Ford's company. Once you're finished at headquarters take Mr Wesley over to the mess and open an account for him.'

'Yes, sir.'

'Good day, Wesley.' Braithwaite nodded towards the door and Arthur turned and started towards it when a shout stopped him in his tracks. 'Salute!'

Arthur spun round and swept his arm up to his brow. 'Sorry, sir.'

'Don't apologise, Wesley. Just do it in future.'

'Yes, sir.'

Arthur followed Sergeant Phillips back to the room he shared with the other clerks. Once Arthur had been given his pay book, the sergeant escorted him to the officers' mess. Only two of the battalion's officers were present and one of them was sleeping on a seat in the corner, a London newspaper lying open across his face. The other officer was eating a breakfast of devilled kidneys and nodded a welcome to Arthur as he passed through the room to the mess sergeant's office in a small room at the back. Phillips entered Arthur's name in the ledger and immediately added a figure of two shillings in the credit column.

'Membership fee,' he explained. 'Payable every month, or part thereof, sir.'

'I see. Any other charges I should be aware of?'

Sergeant Phillips counted them off on his fingers. 'Funeral club. Wedding club. Do you hunt, sir?'

'Let me guess. Pack subscription?'

'Yes, sir. We've a share in the Guards' hunt. Helps keep prices down.'

'Is it compulsory to join?'

'Only if you require friends and something of a social life, sir.'

Arthur frowned. 'Anything else?'

'Only food, lodgings and kit, Otherwise, your pay is your own, sir.'

'That's a great comfort. I believe we are to meet my men.'

'Yes, sir. This way.'

Arthur was taken to the barracks, and while he waited outside, Sergeant Phillips went in and shouted orders for the men to assemble outside, in full uniform. There was a chaos of shouting and scraping of clothes chests before the first men emerged from the wide doorway and hurried into position before standing at ease. Arthur took care to examine each man carefully, noting the surly expression in most faces as they had been hauled from the warm fug of their quarters into a cold, damp late winter morning. Then he pointed to one of the corporals.

'You! Come here.'

The corporal hurried over and stood at attention in front of Arthur.

'What's your name?'

'Campbell, sir.'

'Right Campbell, you see that meal scales over there?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Right then, Campbell, here's what I want you to do.' As he explained, Sergeant Phillips leaned into the barracks and screamed at the last few men still inside. 'Come on, you beauties! Move yourselves! Or the last man out is on a charge!'

As the last of the men took up his position, Arthur puffed his chest out and strode along the front rank of the company. So these were the men of the 73rd Highland Regiment: dour-faced for the most part, roughly shaven and smelling of the damp, sweat and smoke of a crowded barrack room. Every one of them looked to be older than the fresh-faced ensign staring down his long nose at them. Arthur froze for a moment as he desperately tried to summon up the strength to address these men, the likes of which he had rarely encountered before, and never en masse.

He cleared his throat, drew himself up and began. 'Good day to you, gentlemen!'

Silence, and seventy-odd expressionless faces. Arthur felt like turning away and having Sergeant Phillips dismiss these men. Perhaps he could face them another time. Another day. NO! Arthur clenched his fists. He was committed now. Either he act the part of an officer or quit the army immediately. He cleared his throat again.

'I am the Honourable Arthur Wesley, newly appointed ensign to this company. I aim to do my duty and learn the skills of the trade… our trade, as soon as I humanly can. Therefore I ask for your forbearance in the weeks ahead while I become worthy enough to serve alongside fine men like you. It is my intention to know exactly what I can demand of the men I command. How far they can march, how well they can shoot and how hard I can expect them to fight.' He paused to see if his words had had any kind of impact, but the men stared straight ahead as before with no sign of their reaction. Arthur smiled to himself. No doubt some of them had been addressed by so many new officers during their service that they saw him as just the latest face in a chain of young gentlemen from whose lips spewed the platitudes of the first ever such address. Well, today things were going to be a little different. They were going to remember Ensign Wesley.