Jack Absolute by C.C. Humphreys

Author:C.C. Humphreys [Humphreys, C.C.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781409138563
Publisher: Orion
Published: 2011-09-29T06:00:00+00:00

The camp was an appalling sight. Those who had limped or crawled or by some fortune been recovered from the field lay around before hastily erected tents in which the surgeons, their silhouettes monstrously distorted by the lamps within, operated continuously, while outside them amputated limbs grew into flesh volcanoes, with lava flows of congealing blood. In their shadows, men waited their turn, weeping, groaning, or just staring, mouthing silent prayers.

‘And there’s more left on the field, Jack, more than made it back. We try to get to them but the Rebels shoot if we stir. We must wait till full dark and then bring in those few who have survived.’

Jack heard the emotion in Pellew’s voice and was careful not to look at his compatriot. He’d forgotten how young the lad was, barely eighteen. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a hand reach up, saw a tear flicked away.

‘It was hard, the hardest day ever I saw in my life. I’ve been in the odd skirmish and scrap in this campaign but a battle …’ Pellew paused and wrestled with his voice. ‘We held the field, just, but each regiment in the brunt has barely seventy left, officers and men, and the gunners near wiped out. The Yankees kept coming and coming. Who thought they had that kind of courage? I think we was only saved by the Germans marching in from the left. And the rumour is that the General thinks to attack again in the morning. How can we do that, Jack, how—’

His voice was rising both in tone and volume, and Jack made to stumble, reaching out to steady himself on Pellew’s forearm. Halting them both, he said, ‘Burgoyne will only do what is right, Ted. For England. For honour. He will not sacrifice his men needlessly. He loves them too much for that.’

The words, calmly spoken, had their effect. The younger Cornishman breathed deeply and, at last, nodded. ‘I know he will, Jack. I apologize.’

Jack squeezed and released his grip. ‘No need,’ he said. They resumed their walk over the rise and dip of the ground, and soon were passing down a wide central avenue made up of rows of tents, the campfires of the regiments before them. Men clustered around, content to squat and stare, while women moved among the cook pots. Even the swiftest glance told Jack that the rations were spare. No one seemed able to talk, a hush held the whole encampment. At the end of the rows, Jack could make out a structure through the gloom.

‘Sword’s House,’ said Pellew. ‘The General’s HQ.’

He was perhaps fifty yards from the door when he heard a cry from a tent to his right. It would have been clear in a playhouse during the overture. In the stillness of the camp, it was piercing.

‘Jack Absolute. My … oh my … Jack!’

He turned – in time only to open his arms to the blur that hurled itself into them.

‘They told me … he told me … you were dead.

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