The Veteran's Legacy

4. Halifax, Nova Scotia, 1758

“How many men are here?” MacKim looked around the assembly in the half-frozen harbour. “There must be every soldier in King George’s army and half the fleet.”

“We’ve got soldiers in Europe, too,” Cumming sounded proud. “The British Army is stronger than it has ever been, and Fraser’s is part of it.”

Ignoring Cumming, Chisholm smoothed a hand over the stock of his musket. “I’ve heard there are more than twelve thousand men here, MacKim, and over forty ships.” He grunted. “We have thirteen companies in Fraser’s alone.”

“That’s enough to conquer the whole country,” MacKim said.

“I think that’s the idea.” Chisholm thrust his pipe between his lips. “So here we are at Halifax, Nova Scotia, preparing to attack the French in Canada.” He looked at MacKim. “I’ve been a soldier long enough to know that nothing will go according to plan, Hugh.”

“Won’t it?” MacKim watched as a squad of Royal Scots, the First Regiment of Foot, filed past.

“What are you doing, Hugh?” Chisholm asked. “You study every man that passes, all the time.”

MacKim shook his head. “Nothing.”

“That’s not true. I’ve been in the army long enough to know men. What are you up to?”

“Nothing.” MacKim clamped shut his mouth. I must tell nobody what I am doing.

I must tell nobody what I am doing“As you wish.” Chisholm leaned back, his brown eyes thoughtful. “One thing I have learned, and that is not to interfere with another man’s business. Another thing is that a loner cannot survive in the ranks. Everybody needs the support of his companions, and that includes you.”

MacKim replied with a grunt.

“There are no secrets in a regiment, Hugh. Sooner or later, the lads find out everything.”

“There’s nothing to find out, James.” MacKim forced a smile and tried to change the subject. “Tell me about your time in the army.”

“I was in the 43rd,” Chisholm said. “Right from the start. They’re the 42nd now.”

Cumming came closer, smiling ingratiatingly.

MacKim tested the edge of his bayonet and began to shave the stubble from his chin. “You told me you were at Fontenoy.”

“I was.” Chisholm’s face again darkened with the memory of that b****y battle.

“We might be fighting the French soon. What was it like?”

Chisholm was silent for a few moments. “It was like nothing you can ever imagine, Hugh. The noise was deafening, with the cannon and musketry and screams of men and horses. There were tens of thousands of men all engaged in killing each other, yet I only saw small pieces. That was enough.”

MacKim waited, guessing that Chisholm had more to say.

“Powder smoke; acres of powder smoke,” Chisholm said. “You can only see a few yards in front of you. You obey orders and trust to your officers and the men on either side of you. You ignore the wounded because you can’t help them anyway.”

He shook his head. “I will never forget some of the sights I saw that day, Hugh. I hope to God that I am never in a major battle again. They say we may go to Hell when we die, Hugh. I’ve already been there.”

MacKim nodded. He had seen his own version of Hell.

“I got this at Fontenoy.” Chisholm touched his ravaged face. “The man next to me had a misfire and rather than draw his charge, he stuffed more powder on top, and the damned musket blew up. It blew his head off and turned me into a monster.”

“You’re not a monster,” MacKim said.

Chisholm’s face twisted into a smile. “No? I tried life outside the army when that war finished. Nobody wanted to know me. My wife turned her back on me, men I had known all my life threatened to shoot me if I went near their families.” He shrugged. “Only the army accepted me. So this is my home until the French or disease kills me.”

MacKim shook his head. “I am sure you’ll find some woman.”

“I doubt it.” Chisholm stuffed more tobacco into his pipe. “You’ll be all right, Hugh. You’re a handsome enough young man. I expect King Geordie will disband Fraser’s once this war is over and you’ll be free to find a girl.” He lit up, puffing slowly. “But that doesn’t interest you, does it? You’ve never once looked at a woman, although there are some handsome fillies here. Yet you watch every man. What are you looking for, Hugh?”

MacKim took a deep breath. “Ligonier’s Foot.”

“Ligonier’s?” Chisholm looked confused. “There’s no such regiment, Hugh.”

“What?” MacKim had no other links to the men who murdered Ewan. “Were they disbanded?”

“No, not at all,” Chisholm said. “They have a different name, that’s all. You must know that regiments are named after their colonels and change their name when a different colonel takes command. What was Ligonier’s Regiment of Foot is now Webb’s Regiment.”

“Webb’s!” MacKim started. “They’re in Halifax.”

“Yes. Now tell me why you have the interest?’”

Dingwall interrupted their conversation before MacKim could reply. “Come on, you lazy buggers! General Wolfe wants us to play in boats!” The sergeant glowered at them. “You’re chatting like idle women there. Soldiers! I’ve seen children at play who looked more like soldiers.”

As NCOs’ sergeants translated officers’ orders into foul-mouthed rants, the men of every regiment filed into boats, standing in rigid lines as mocking seamen rowed them out to ships, trained them how to embark, and rowed them back again.

“What’s all this?” Cumming asked as they splashed ashore. “We’ve done this already.”

“Pikestaff is making sure we know how to disembark onto a beach,” Chisholm said.

“Who the devil is Pikestaff?’

“General Wolfe,” Chisholm said. “That’s the fellow over there.” Scanning a knot of senior officers who stood on a slight eminence observing everything, Chisholm indicated a tall, thin man. “Just look at him. He’s as slender as the staff of a pike and as unyielding. He can only be Pikestaff.”

Although MacKim knew that General Wolfe had been with the British Army at Culloden, he knew little else about him.

“I heard that he’s a good officer,” Cumming said.

“We’ll see.” Chisholm reserved judgement. “He seems to be thorough so far.” He nudged MacKim. “You were looking for Webb’s. There they are.”

After years of brooding, MacKim shook at the possibility that his brother’s murderers could be within sight. Shifting his position slightly, he saw the boats that held Webb’s regiment two hundred yards away. At this distance, the men were faceless, expressionless wooden soldiers, each man looking exactly like his neighbour.

If you are there, Hayes, I am after you. If you are still alive, I am going to kill you. MacKim felt the desire for revenge burning so fiercely, he was not surprised that Chisholm put a steadying hand on his arm.

If you are there, Hayes, I am after you. If you are still alive, I am going to kill you.“What ails you, MacKim? What is it about that regiment? Man, you’re trembling!”

“It must be the cold.” MacKim was aware that Cumming and some others were also staring at him. He forced an unconvincing smile. “I’m all right. I’m just fed up with this training. I want to get at these French rascals.”

“What was that?” Lieutenant Cameron was perhaps a year younger than MacKim, a fresh-faced man from the banks of Loch Linnhe. “You want to get these French rascals do you, MacKim?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, you’ll get your chance sooner rather than later, my good man, I promise you.” Cameron said. “In the meantime, do your duty, and all will be well.”

“Yes, sir,” MacKim said. It was unusual for an officer to address a private soldier directly, which was why the men would follow wherever Cameron led. When they disembarked on the beach, MacKim watched Webb’s Foot marching away.

I won’t forget you. Again, MacKim shook with hatred.

I won’t forget you“Come on, MacKim. Whatever your business with Webb’s, it will have to wait.” Chisholm pushed him away. “Dingwall’s watching.”

* * *

On the 26th May 1758, the army finally began the arduous process of boarding the transports that would take them to war.

The leading regiment sang a song that MacKim had never heard before:

‘Our troops they now can plainly see

‘Our troops they now can plainly seeMay Britain guard in Germany;

May Britain guard in Germany;Hanoverians, Hessians, Prussians,

Hanoverians, Hessians, Prussians,Are paid t’oppose the French and Russians;

Are paid t’oppose the French and Russians;Nor scruple they with truth to say

Nor scruple they with truth to sayThey’re fighting for Americay."

They’re fighting for Americay."“What’s all that about?” MacKim asked.

“It’s the truth,”Chisholm said. “Great Britain is paying foreign armies to fight the French in Europe, while we are over here. There are all sorts of armies marching all over the place, and all a blind, because we don’t want land in Europe. We don’t care if some foreign potentate or other moves a frontier fortress a few miles or not. We’re after taking control of this continent of America from the French.”

“How do you know these things?” MacKim asked.

“Experience, MacKim, and because I don’t have distractions.” Chisholm touched his scarred face. “When you look like me, you can’t think about women or the future. All I have is the regiment and why we fight,” he pointed to the waiting ships, “or why we sail.”

“Thank goodness it’s only a short voyage to Louisbourg,” MacKim said. “Île Royale is not that far away, and then we’ll capture Louisbourg from Johnny Frenchman.”

Chisholm bit on a plug of tobacco. “You may not think it so simple when you see Louisbourg,” he said. “The French have made it the strongest fortress in North America, with thousands of infantry waiting behind thick stone walls. It’s the nearest thing to a European fort on this side of the Atlantic.”

MacKim nodded absently. Rather than contemplating the impending struggle for Louisbourg, he was thinking about Hayes and Webb’s Regiment. Surely, at some point, he would have the opportunity to serve alongside Webb’s. He knew that Hayes and his companions had been in the Grenadier Company, which concentrated his search to a hundred men at most. It should not be too hard to find them, if indeed they were still alive in the army after twelve years. All he had to do was survive the French bullets and cannonballs.

* * *

The fog that hung thick and damp on the harbour of Louisburg that morning of the 2nd June 1758 did little to dull the thunder of the surf on the shore. Ships’ masts thrust through the grey-white mist, with lights dimly glimmering and the resonant clang of bells marking the passage of time.

“By the mark, five!” A seaman cast the lead to test the depth of water under the ship’s hull. What MacKim could see of Louisbourg was not prepossessing; massive grey walls squatting above the fog-smeared, ice-dappled harbour with the white flag of Bourbon France hanging limply above. With Louisbourg"s walls augmented with a deep ditch and bastions, the fortifications closed off a small peninsula.

“It will be a hard nut to c***k,” Chisholm said. “We’ll have to land a fair distance away or their artillery will blow us away.”

“We won’t be landing anywhere in this weather,” Corporal Gunn said.

Chisholm puffed at his pipe. “The corporal’s right. Settle down, lads, and live a day or so longer.”

MacKim examined the surrounding ships, although he knew his chances of glimpsing Hayes or his companions were slight.

“You all right, Sawnie?” a grinning seaman asked. “Had you better not stay below and let us men do the work?”

“I prefer the fresh air,” MacKim answered truthfully.

The seaman laughed. “You got the wrong job, Sawnie. You should have joined the Navy.”

“Maybe next time,” MacKim said and moved as a red-faced petty officer bellowed at him to get below where he belonged and stop cluttering up the deck.

The boisterous weather continued all that week, with the surf booming as a backdrop.

“That’s another day to live,” Chisholm said every morning.

“That’s another day for the French to strengthen their defences,” Sergeant Dingwall said. “And another day closer to winter.”

MacKim smiled. “It’s early June, Sergeant! Winter is months away yet.”

“General Amherst wishes to capture Quebec and Montreal this campaigning season,” Dingwall unbent to explain. “He’ll have to take Louisbourg first, to secure our rear and ensure the French ships can’t use it as a base to intercept our supplies. The longer we take to capture Louisbourg, the less time we have to sail up the St Lawrence to Quebec.”

MacKim nodded. He did not care if the French held Louisbourg or Quebec or all of North America. In his opinion, it was a cold, stark place anyway.

“Up on deck!” Lieutenant Cameron ordered. “Musket drill, lads!”

Cold though it was, MacKim was always happier up on deck than trapped in the stuffy atmosphere down below. He took his place between Chisholm and Cumming.

“Something’s happening,” Chisholm said.

One of the Royal Navy frigates had detached from the fleet to approach the shore at Gabarus Bay. When the French responded with a rolling bombardment, the frigate adjusted her sails, steering from side to side to avoid the cannonballs that raised tall fountains of water around her.

MacKim took a deep breath. “That’s the first time I’ve seen guns fired in war.” He thought it best not mention his youthful experiences at Culloden.

“You’ll hear plenty more,” Chisholm said. “The Frenchies won’t give up Canada easily.”

As MacKim watched, the frigate fired her starboard broadside, sixteen cannon crashing out in an ear-pounding display of naval power.

“That’ll show the French we mean business.” MacKim tried to peer through the thick banks of smoke to see what results the broadside had had against the stone walls of Louisbourg.

“Maybe,” Chisholm said. “I think Admiral Boscawen is just keeping his men busy. Seamen get bored sitting at anchor, nursemaiding thousands of grousing soldiers.”

Standing on MacKim’s left, Cumming shook his head. “No. I think we’re going to attack today. We’ll beat them. Everybody says that the French can’t fight.”

Chisholm grunted. “If everybody says that, then everybody is wrong. The French are bonny fighters, Cumming. We won’t win this war in only a few weeks.”

“The French can’t fight,” Cumming insisted.

“Oh, they can.” Chisholm’s scarred face twitched. “You’ll be a different man at the end of it, Cumming. A long war makes a good soldier.”

The firing ended as the frigate steered away. A drift of wind momentarily cleared the mist and smoke, revealing the walls of Louisburg seemingly untouched, with the white Bourbon flag proud above.

MacKim stared at the fortress as the reality of his situation hit him. Although he had to find four men who may or may not be in the ranks of Webb’s Regiment, he also had to survive this campaign. Glancing sideways, he saw Chisholm standing like a piece of carved granite. He would need to emulate veterans such as Chisholm. He had a lot to learn.