Read All in Scarlet Uniform (Napoleonic War 4) for Free Online Page B

and seek them out in Aberdeen.
    The plump girl blushed, then giggled a little as she curtsied, stepping back to permit the officer to pass. Williams kept going, raising his hat each time he needed to get past anyone. His small part in the performance was limited, and the rest could be left to Dobson, Corporal Murphy and the drummer. They would soon invite those ‘wishing to apply’ to join them at the Black Lion and there regale them with tales and drinks and convince as many as possible to join. So far Dobson was sticking to small beer, but Williams worried that the task of a recruiting sergeant risked a relapse into his old ways. At least Murphy could drink like a fish and still tell plenty of grand yarns of adventure and loot.
    It was unpleasant to have to stretch the truth to convince men to join. At least Williams could be sure that his men would not follow some of the worst practices – getting a man drunk and then slipping the King’s shilling into his pocket, swearing blind the next morning that he had volunteered. There were stories of other sergeants hiding a shilling in a man’s mug, so that he took the coin that way. As he left the square he saw some other recent posters stuck to a wall. One was for the 7th Hussars – the Old Saucy Seventh, as it proclaimed – and in a matter-of-fact tone declared that since ‘… the regiment is mounted on Blood Horses, and being lately returned from SPAIN, and the Horses Young, the Men will not be allowed to HUNT during the next Season, more than once a week’. Williams supposed that the statement was true in its own absurd way, for he had never heard of private soldiers or NCOs in any cavalry regiment ever riding to hounds. He shook his head and walked on.
    Before dusk Dobson and Murphy brought him eleven volunteers. Williams found a local doctor well practised in such matters and paid him to give them a cursory inspection. Two were rejected – the first because he could barely see, while the other failed to make the minimum height even with folded paper packed into his shoes. The rest were sworn in by the magistrate. The pair of farm boys were among them, and there were half a dozen who gave their occupation as mill worker. Their desperation was nothing compared to the ninth man, the father whose son had chatted to Williams so happily earlier in the day. His name was James Raynor, and when the whole party marched out of town the next morning his face was hopeless, certain of never seeing his boy again. Williams hoped that he was wrong.
    ‘Well done, Dob,’ Williams said to the lance sergeant as they marched off the next morning. ‘The colonel should be pleased. At this rate his battalion should be back to full establishment.’
    ‘Aye.’ Dobson sniffed. ‘Hunger is always the best recruiting sergeant of all.’ The veteran stated the facts, his tone free from judgement. He seemed to think for a while, and then looked at the young lieutenant. ‘Not sure it’s quite “his” battalion yet, though.’
    ‘I do not follow.’ Williams had found it well worth listening to the veteran’s opinions.
    ‘The colonel is still a stranger. Hasn’t been with us in any of the actions.’ Dobson had seen plenty of service in other regiments, but Portugal had been the first campaign for the 106th. Since then it had seen plenty of hard knocks. ‘Reckon he’s a smart enough man to want to make us his own.’
    Williams was intrigued. ‘How?’ he asked.
    ‘Best way would be to send off some of the characters who have been with the battalion all the way. Old Mac, of course.’ Dobson grinned. ‘Sorry, sir, I mean Major MacAndrews. Then probably Mr Pringle.’ He winked at Williams. ‘You too, Pug, begging your pardon.’
    ‘I am only a lieutenant.’
    ‘You know how to fight. So do the others.’
    Williams was still unsure. ‘Then won’t he want us? If he is smart.’ It was best to speak frankly to Dobson, at least in private. The man knew the army and how it