Jack Lark: Recruit (A Jack Lark Short Story) Read online

  The train slowed as it pulled into the station. Jack stood on the tips of his toes and tried to peer ahead, but he could see little now that night had fallen.

  The carriages banged together as they came to halt, a great blast of steam coming from the locomotive as it slowed. Jack and his fellows could not help pushing into one another, but the long journey had dulled their senses to such things and not one man complained.

  It was eerily quiet as they waited in the darkness. The hours of constant motion had left their limbs trembling, their nerves frayed by the noise and teeth-juddering vibration, and their bodies had been chilled to the bone by the rush of air that had been incessant since they had left Waterloo Bridge station.

  ‘Out you get.’ The familiar voice of Corporal Taylor came from the platform and they obeyed, opening the door in the carriage’s side and tumbling out.

  Jack’s legs felt as if they would give out as he took his place to disembark. He half-fell out of the carriage, only the closeness of his fellow recruits preventing him from sprawling to an ignominious heap on the ground.

  The station was deserted. Jack caught a glimpse of a porter hiding away behind a doorway, the man clearly unwilling to deal with the would-be soldiers dumped on to his platform.

  ‘Where’s Kelley?’ The corporal snarled the question. He looked as fresh as a daisy, his seat in the second-class carriage a world away from the exhausting journey endured by the men incarcerated in the open-air truck.

  ‘He jumped.’ A hard-faced Londoner several years older than Jack called Brown answered the question.

  ‘The fucking bastard.’ The corporal’s anger was swift. Yet it was not such an unusual occurrence. The army called it false attestation, and it was a common enough offence for there to be a formal process for dealing with its perpetrators. Kelley’s name would be circulated, along with a description, to warn other recruiting sergeants of his game. He would be caught, eventually. Then he would face either imprisonment with hard labour, transportation – the sentence that would see him banished to the lands on the other side of the world – or, if the beak were harsh, a lonely dawn on a scaffold, a length of rope the last thing his country would lend him.

  The locomotive pulled away, the great leviathan heaving itself into motion with another blast of steam. The recruits stood and watched as it left. When it had gone, they found themselves in sudden and unsettling peace and a long way from any place they had known before.

  Corporal Taylor shrugged off the loss of one of his draft and contented himself with pushing his thirteen remaining recruits into some degree of order. Jack was in the rear rank, one of the last to be forced into position. He was close enough to the corporal to see his face go pale and his eyes widen in a moment’s fear as he looked down the platform.

  ‘The sergeant is here to collect you.’ Taylor’s voice was hushed, the first time Jack had heard him speak at anything other than full bawling volume. ‘Keep your muzzles shut, you hear me. Don’t say a fucking thing.’ The hasty warning delivered, the corporal stepped away, as if no longer associated with the odd collection of men brought to the station at the end of the line.

  Jack craned his neck to one side so that he could see the manner of the sergeant who had put the fear of God into Corporal Taylor.

  The station was well lit by gaslight, and he could make out the broad shoulders of a tall figure at the far end of the platform. The scarlet uniform he was wearing was immaculately tailored to his impressive frame. Jack was taller than most men, but he could tell at a glance that the new arrival stood a good half-foot higher again. With a black shako planted firmly on his head, he looked like some fairy-tale giant, and Jack began to understand Corporal Taylor’s sudden fear. It was infectious, and he felt a flutter of dread stir in his own belly as the enormous sergeant began to march towards the recruits, the hollow sound of his heavy boots echoing along the silent platform.

  With some difficulty Jack swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat. The sergeant loomed large as he approached. His face betrayed no emotion, his features set into the expression of a man long used to being totally in control. He came to a halt no more than two paces from the front rank. The thick moustache that smothered his upper lip bristled once as he ran his eyes over the men who had chosen to take the Queen’s shilling. Jack noticed the way that his eyes narrowed as he looked at each man in turn, the knowing, appraising stare judging each of them and finding them all lacking.

  The behemoth of a sergeant glanced once at Corporal Taylor, dismissing him in a single heartbeat, before he returned his attention to his new recruits.

  ‘My eye, what have we here?’ He spoke quietly, his tone calm and reasonable, yet Jack’s soul froze, a gossamer-light chill running down the length of his spine. The sergeant terrified him.

  ‘I’ve been in this regiment a dozen fucking years and I have never seen a more filthy, dirty, unsoldierly rabble than you lot.’ The sergeant’s face revealed nothing as he damned them all. ‘Now listen to me, because I am only going to say this once.’ He continued in the same soft tone, yet not one of the men he was addressing dared to even breathe too loudly lest his baleful gaze come to rest on them. ‘I will be watching each and every one of you. My little eyes will be on you night and day. There won’t be a moment when I don’t know what you are doing or what you are thinking. Forget everything that you were. Forget everything that you thought you knew. Think only of what you can do to please me. What you can do to make me proud.’

  Jack did his best to fight off the fear stirring deep in his gut. Yet the Goliath of a sergeant had not quite finished.

  ‘My name is Sergeant Slater. You will only speak to me when I give you permission, and when you do, you will call me “sir”.’ Slater paused, his hard eyes boring into every one of them. ‘You all belong to me now. I suggest that is something you never forget.’

  Without another word, the huge sergeant turned smartly on his heel and marched away.

  Chapter 3

  The raucous blare of a bugle tore Jack from his sleep. The sound echoed around the barracks, the noise loud enough to be heard even in the room tucked away on an upper storey where the recruits had been billeted.

  Jack closed his eyes and tried to cling to his rest. The canvas palliasse cover with its straw filling was comfortable, and even the thin brown blanket he had been given was warm enough to entice him to stay where he was. He would not be given the chance.

  ‘On your feet, you fucking slugabeds, this ain’t no time to be still lying in your stinking pit.’ Corporal Taylor burst into the room the moment the last note of the bugle call died away, his loud voice claiming ownership of the silence that had followed. ‘That there bugle call is the reveille, and when you hear it you get your miserable hulking carcasses on to your fucking feet.’

  Jack staggered upright, rubbing his hands furiously over his face in an attempt to bring it to life. It felt horribly early, but Corporal Taylor was already immaculately turned out, and Jack felt a spark of excitement ignite deep in his soul. His first day as a soldier was about to begin.

  The barrack room was thrown into chaos by the arrival of the corporal. Men stumbled out of their beds bleary-eyed and vague. The quiet that had settled over the place at night was forgotten. Doors banged and voices echoed through the corridors elsewhere in the barracks. A peal of laughter reached the room where the recruits had bedded down before it was shut off, a bark of authority snuffing it out.

  Jack reached for his clothes. He had rolled them into a bundle to act as a pillow and now he shook them out before dressing as quickly as he could.

  ‘Get a bleeding move on. The day has started and so should you.’ Taylor stalked down the narrow corridor in the middle of the room. There was little spare space. The beds were lined up along either side, with barely six inches between them. Above each bed was a shelf, empty now but ready for the recruits’ kit. The narrow windows were firmly shut and barred, the panes of glass covered with condensation, the lack of fre
sh air leaving the room muggy and ripe with the stink of men.

  ‘Right, you and you.’ Corporal Taylor jabbed his finger at Jack and Charlie, who were standing next to each other towards the end of the room where the single stove was placed. ‘Pick up that there pisspot.’ The corporal indicated a wooden tub that sat in front of the stove.

  Jack moved towards it then peered cautiously inside. It stank to high heaven, and by the look on Charlie’s face he was not the only one not so keen to go near it.

  ‘Strike a fucking light. Get a hold of it and take the bloody thing outside,’ Corporal Taylor snapped at the two reluctant recruits, his patience already wearing thin.

  The bugle called again, the ascending notes meaning nothing to Jack as he took hold of one side of the tub whilst doing his best not to inhale any of the dreadful miasma that rose as the few inches of piss sloshed from side to side. The thudding of fast-moving feet came from outside the barrack room as other men reacted quickly to whatever message the notes had conveyed.

  ‘Come on! Come on! Look alive-o.’ Taylor chivvied the recruits out. ‘Out you go, quickly now.’

  Jack and Charlie moved awkwardly out of the room, manoeuvring the tub with care. They followed the rest of the recruits down a flight of stairs and then out into an enclosed yard behind their part of the barracks.

  Jack gasped as they emerged outside. The air was chill and it rasped in his lungs as he sucked it down. Carrying the tub made moving awkward, but he saw the corporal glaring in their direction so he went as quickly as he dared. Charlie tried to keep up, but the tub was heavy and he stumbled, sloshing piss over the lip on to the side of Jack’s leg.

  ‘You clumsy bastard!’ Jack snarled through gritted teeth as he watched the piss drip down his trousers. There was no time for any further admonishment as Taylor indicated for them to dump the tub in front of a single water pump.

  ‘Get it rinsed out.’ Taylor’s face wrinkled with disgust as he saw Jack’s wet leg. ‘Then wash yourselves. The rest of you, strip off and get clean. We can’t have you stinking up the place.’

  Jack and Charlie put the tub down in front of the pump. The ground was slick with water and with thin muddy slurry. Jack pumped whilst Charlie struggled to swirl the water around inside the tub before tipping it out on to the cobbles.

  Jack worked hard, his breath condensing in front of his face. The early-morning air was damp, yet there was nothing to be done but to bear with it. The other recruits were of a similar mind, and they were already stripping off their clothes before bundling them up and depositing them on the far side of the yard in a vain attempt to keep them dry.

  ‘That’s enough.’ Charlie stood back, his face flushed with effort. ‘Sorry about your trousers.’ He flashed Jack an apologetic smile.

  ‘Come on, lads. I ain’t going to stand around here and watch you all fucking day.’ Corporal Taylor prowled around his men, urging them to greater haste. ‘Get on with it!’

  Jack and Charlie moved away from the freshly cleaned-out tub and stripped quickly. The other men were already naked, and they crowded around the tub, which was now full of icy water. The recruits threw it over themselves in a hurried wash, their gasps and oaths the only reaction to the freezing temperature. There was no dignity, their bare arses bashing against one another as they washed together. Jack hung back, still not used to such enforced nudity. At the gin palace he had slept and washed alone, and he shrank away from the closeness of so much male flesh.

  ‘Come on, you. Get yourself clean.’ Taylor saw Jack’s hesitation. ‘Fucking hell.’ The corporal bawled with laughter as Jack reluctantly shed his drawers. ‘I’ve seen bigger cocks on a newborn baby.’ He strode past, careful to give the area where the men were washing a wide berth, protecting his immaculate uniform from a soaking.

  Jack’s face burnt with embarrassment and he forced himself into the melee. He gasped as he tossed handfuls of the icy water over his body and tried not to think about what pressed against his legs as the other men did the same. As he threw a last handful over his face, he was shivering, the cold already taking root. He dragged on his clothes, forcing them over his wet flesh, his body already trembling uncontrollably, his thin shirt doing little to warm him.

  ‘That’s enough. Back inside. Empty the tub and take it with you. Come on, you fucking Sallys, get a move on.’

  Everything was being done in a rush. Jack was spared carrying the tub this time so he went with the crowd, forcing his freezing body into a trot as the recruits rushed back to their barrack room.

  ‘Get this place sorted.’ Taylor followed hard on their heels, bellowing with every step. ‘I want the beds pulled six inches from the wall, then roll your palliasse, fold your blankets and leave them nice and neat on the top. You will have to learn how to display your kit properly because we will do this every fucking day. If you don’t get it right then the whole bally lot of you will be punished, so look out for your neighbour and work together.’

  Jack hurried to obey. He was so cold that his teeth were chattering non-stop. His fingers fumbled with his blanket and he dropped it.

  ‘You useless clot.’ Taylor pounced on his clumsiness. He picked up Jack’s blanket and threw it over his shoulder. ‘Get a fucking grip.’

  Jack tried not to think and to keep his emotions at bay. Taylor moved on to shout at another recruit, whose first attempt to fold his blanket failed to meet the corporal’s exacting standards. Jack grabbed his discarded blanket and tried again. He sucked down his anger and his frustration. He had a feeling this was just the start.

  ‘Out! Out!’

  Jack nearly choked on the mouthful of bread he was trying to ram down his gullet. Breakfast had arrived, a miserable feast of a single damp black loaf for each man and a tin mug of tarry tea thick enough for it to have to be chewed. The recruits had barely had time to start eating before Corporal Taylor stormed back into the room, bellowing at them to get out.

  Jack swallowed hard and gulped down a last mouthful of the lukewarm tea before dumping the mug back on to the tray that had brought it to their room. Still chewing, he followed the rush of bodies making for the door.

  This time they turned the other way at the bottom of the stairwell and rushed out on to the great parade ground at the centre of the barracks. Bright red brick buildings lined all four sides of the square, with the only way in or out through the iron gates that were watched over by the guardhouse on the barracks’ northern flank.

  ‘Wait here. Form two lines. Look sharp now.’ Taylor pushed and pulled the men into a rough formation at one corner of the yard.

  Jack took his place and used the moment to look around. Other men were emerging from the barracks and forming up under the direction of their corporals before marching smartly on to the square, the parade ground echoing to the sound of army-issue boots. Some wore smart red uniforms, and Jack supposed that this, along with their bright white cross belts and the muskets on their shoulders, marked them out as having nearly completed their training. Others wore simple grey canvas fatigues, but even these men fell into line quickly and with little fuss.

  Corporals prowled around each group as they formed up in their allotted place on the square, their faces contorting as they screamed at their charges, the shouts of abuse haranguing the men as they tried to get every rank and every file in perfect spacing. With such vocal encouragement it did not take long for order to emerge out of the confusion, and even the most abusive corporal fell silent as the ranks took on their final shape.

  ‘Right. Let’s go. Recruits! Recruits, march!’ Taylor had his group organised as best he could and led them on to the parade ground for the first time. Their place was at the very rear of the other formed ranks, their civilian clothes and unsoldierly gait marking them out as new men.

  Jack stood and shivered. He judged there to be close to one hundred men on parade. His group were ignored by all but Corporal Taylor, who chivvied them into something that resembled the smart ranks of the other men before moving away,
distancing himself from the newcomers, who were not yet a part of the whole.

  The square hushed. Each man appeared to stiffen, the sound of nigh on a hundred men taking a breath at the same time reaching Jack as he stood and stared at the spectacle. He looked this way and that, trying to see what could have created such a reaction.

  A small group of figures emerged from one of the buildings on the far side of the barracks. Even from a distance Jack recognised the enormous frame of Sergeant Slater. Three other men accompanied him. Each bore the same bright golden chevrons of rank on their arms, and they all looked as tough and as uncompromising as the man who had greeted the new recruits on their arrival the previous evening.

  A fifth man followed them out. His uniform was different from that worn by the four sergeants. The shade of his scarlet coatee was slightly lighter, and in place of the sergeants’ chevrons his uniform had bright gold epaulettes on the shoulders. At his hip was a sword, a thin, curving blade held in place by polished black leather straps. The front of his scarlet jacket was decorated with gold lace that caught the early-morning light, and he moved with languid ease, even in the presence of the four hard-eyed sergeants, who stood back and let him take station at their head. Jack was certain that this was his first sighting of an officer, the man who was in command of every man in the training company.

  He watched the small group approach the formed ranks. They moved along each line, pausing every so often, a muttered conversation marking out a man here or a man there. Then they moved off once more, the officer glancing over the ranks, the sergeants glaring at the men whose names had been taken, conveying the threat of what awaited them.