Purgatory's Shore by Taylor Anderson

Author:Taylor Anderson [Anderson, Taylor]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780593200735
Google: D0oQEAAAQBAJ
Publisher: Penguin
Published: 2021-09-20T23:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 20

My God, what a mess!” Captain Marvin Beck exclaimed miserably, gazing out at the camp. The well-meaning locals had brought a wonderful feast and a tasty beer he’d even sampled himself, but some had also brought a powerful spirit called “octli.” That took Beck by surprise, though he supposed it shouldn’t have, and it spread faster than he could stop. He couldn’t blame the men for taking the stuff; it was freely given in abundance, and the homesick soldiers had good reason to forget things for awhile. But with a few clearly innocent exceptions, most of the locals who so quickly doled out the milky-looking fluid just as quickly vanished. Beck had experience with unscrupulous sutlers descending on army camps, selling things the men wanted or needed (including forbidden booze) at exorbitant prices, but these charged nothing before they disappeared. That gave Beck an uncomfortable feeling. It was as if they knew they were doing wrong and were deliberately trying to disrupt the camp and incapacitate as many men as they could with drink. Worse, now that so many of the big painted jugs of octli were on the loose, even the big Ranger named “Boogerbear” doubted they could do much but “ride it out.” Shutting it down “in the middle,” as it were, might only breed fierce resentment and make it harder to rebuild discipline after the outburst of inebriation passed. “Besides,” Boogerbear had told him philosophically, “they had a hell of a day. This is better than ’em dwellin’ on their loss—on bein’ lost—not to mention what they got to look forward to; they may be in the army forever, fightin’ the god damned Doms.” That last part made sense. Tranquilo’s threats had circulated, and the Dominion sounded like an unimaginably barbarous enemy, liable to “make the Comanches sick to their stomachs,” as Boogerbear had put it.

Still, if the revelry was hard to watch, it was even harder to control. Men whirled squealing women around in dances they didn’t know, accompanied by the scrape of fiddles and laughing and roaring in all directions. Tents collapsed and cook pots clattered when drunken soldiers crashed into them. Beck was reminded of an account he’d read of the wild fur trade fairs in the far Rocky Mountains. He didn’t remember who’d said it, but the description of “maleness gone berserk” had amused him at the time. It didn’t now.

“The very idea of a . . . party like this in a military camp was absurd in the first place!” he added to Lieutenant Manley and Lieutenant Sime. Manley was doing his best to keep things under control and ensure some of their people remained sober, but Sime was no use at all, practically drunk all the time himself from the laudanum he consumed to excess to deaden the pain from the terrible wound to his face.

“We’ve got some good NCOs, at least,” Manley consoled, “and not just those we brought with us. Some of the new ones are keeping hold of enough men to respond to emergencies.

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