closer to the man. ‘For hasn’t the Lieutenant recognized yon ship. Says it’s the
Robuste,
out of Nantes this whole year. It’ll have holds crammed with goods.’ He stepped away and Jack could see the sudden gleam
in the sailor’s eyes. ‘Tell the Captain we’ll be up presently.’
‘Right then.’
As the sailor moved away to the stair, Red Hugh sighed. ‘Most lads will fight the Frogs if they think they have even a little
chance. But I wish I had something other than greed with which to inspire them.’
‘Like what?’
‘Ah, lad. You should have seen me in the uniform of a Grenz Grenadier. With my Khobuk hat, my dolman, pantaloons and sash,
my long moustaches and my hair done just so …’ He corkscrewed a twist of his red hair up beside his face. ‘The French usually
ran the moment they looked upon us.’
Jack smiled, then remembered: he had seen the French run, at Quebec, from the impoverished line of red-clad men who had waited
till they were impossibly close before they fired.
‘Red-clad,’ he murmured.
‘Aye, Jack?’ came the reply, mistaking him.
He looked at the Irishman. ‘You may not have your uniform. But I have mine.’
He turned, walked back to his own trunk. He had it open by the time Red Hugh joined him. He lifted the jacket. It was more
bright scarlet than russet red, having never beenexposed to weather. Jack had found a wonderful tailor in Newport and, since his old Dragoon uniform had been stripped off
him by the Abenaki, he had commissioned this one. He wasn’t going to present himself to the King in the dead Lobster-back’s
castaways he’d been issued with in Quebec. He’d traded the tailor ten ermine skins, a fortune, but he’d got what he paid for.
The cloth could not have been bettered, nor better cut, in Jermyn Street. The silver buttons needed a polish, as did the front
plate on the cavalryman’s cap, so they’d provide a brighter contrast to the black facings at lapel and cuff, the black of
his regiment, the 16th Light Dragoons.
Red Hugh was peering over his shoulder. ‘You are not thinking of wearing that, are you, son?’
‘Why not? Were you not just wishing for your old uniform?’
‘But mine was green and I was dressed like hundreds of my fellows when I wore it. You will stand out, and draw bullets as
fast as shit draws flies.’ He tried to pull the material from Jack’s hand. ‘No, lad. Keep to your sailor’s gear and look like
everyone else.’
Jack rubbed the material for a long moment. ‘You wish me to skulk.’
‘Blend in—’
Jack raised a hand. ‘Forgive me, sir. I will, of course, take your advice in all matters pertaining to grenades. But I have
a uniform here, the uniform of my regiment. To have it and not fight in it would be a dishonour to it. To my regiment. To
the name of Absolute.’ He rose and looked straight into the Irishman’s eyes. ‘This is
my
point of honour, sir. And I will not budge from it.’
‘By God.’ Red Hugh’s eyes filled with light and moisture. Then, to Jack’s great surprise, he leaned forward, grabbed Jack
by the back of his head and kissed him smack on the mouth. ‘By God, this
is
indeed the spirit that conqueredCanada. And I can see the half Irishman in you, plain as day. ’Twill be an honour to fight beside you – even if you’ll be
drawing half their cannon and all their sharpshooters.’
He laughed and, after a moment of reconsideration, Jack did, too. ‘I’ll see you aloft, Red Hugh.’
‘Aloft, Black Jack.’
The Irishman made for the stairs and Jack began to dress, slowly, enjoying the quality of silk and serge as he pulled each
item on. If the cavalry sabre he’d acquired in Newport was not of the first order, it had an edge that was keen enough and
nicks that attested to its experience. And he had other weapons, too. Reaching again into the trunk, he pulled out his tomahawk,
thrust it beside the sword into his belt. Then, as he heard the pipes call ‘All
Robuste,
out of Nantes this whole year. It’ll have holds crammed with goods.’ He stepped away and Jack could see the sudden gleam
in the sailor’s eyes. ‘Tell the Captain we’ll be up presently.’
‘Right then.’
As the sailor moved away to the stair, Red Hugh sighed. ‘Most lads will fight the Frogs if they think they have even a little
chance. But I wish I had something other than greed with which to inspire them.’
‘Like what?’
‘Ah, lad. You should have seen me in the uniform of a Grenz Grenadier. With my Khobuk hat, my dolman, pantaloons and sash,
my long moustaches and my hair done just so …’ He corkscrewed a twist of his red hair up beside his face. ‘The French usually
ran the moment they looked upon us.’
Jack smiled, then remembered: he had seen the French run, at Quebec, from the impoverished line of red-clad men who had waited
till they were impossibly close before they fired.
‘Red-clad,’ he murmured.
‘Aye, Jack?’ came the reply, mistaking him.
He looked at the Irishman. ‘You may not have your uniform. But I have mine.’
He turned, walked back to his own trunk. He had it open by the time Red Hugh joined him. He lifted the jacket. It was more
bright scarlet than russet red, having never beenexposed to weather. Jack had found a wonderful tailor in Newport and, since his old Dragoon uniform had been stripped off
him by the Abenaki, he had commissioned this one. He wasn’t going to present himself to the King in the dead Lobster-back’s
castaways he’d been issued with in Quebec. He’d traded the tailor ten ermine skins, a fortune, but he’d got what he paid for.
The cloth could not have been bettered, nor better cut, in Jermyn Street. The silver buttons needed a polish, as did the front
plate on the cavalryman’s cap, so they’d provide a brighter contrast to the black facings at lapel and cuff, the black of
his regiment, the 16th Light Dragoons.
Red Hugh was peering over his shoulder. ‘You are not thinking of wearing that, are you, son?’
‘Why not? Were you not just wishing for your old uniform?’
‘But mine was green and I was dressed like hundreds of my fellows when I wore it. You will stand out, and draw bullets as
fast as shit draws flies.’ He tried to pull the material from Jack’s hand. ‘No, lad. Keep to your sailor’s gear and look like
everyone else.’
Jack rubbed the material for a long moment. ‘You wish me to skulk.’
‘Blend in—’
Jack raised a hand. ‘Forgive me, sir. I will, of course, take your advice in all matters pertaining to grenades. But I have
a uniform here, the uniform of my regiment. To have it and not fight in it would be a dishonour to it. To my regiment. To
the name of Absolute.’ He rose and looked straight into the Irishman’s eyes. ‘This is
my
point of honour, sir. And I will not budge from it.’
‘By God.’ Red Hugh’s eyes filled with light and moisture. Then, to Jack’s great surprise, he leaned forward, grabbed Jack
by the back of his head and kissed him smack on the mouth. ‘By God, this
is
indeed the spirit that conqueredCanada. And I can see the half Irishman in you, plain as day. ’Twill be an honour to fight beside you – even if you’ll be
drawing half their cannon and all their sharpshooters.’
He laughed and, after a moment of reconsideration, Jack did, too. ‘I’ll see you aloft, Red Hugh.’
‘Aloft, Black Jack.’
The Irishman made for the stairs and Jack began to dress, slowly, enjoying the quality of silk and serge as he pulled each
item on. If the cavalry sabre he’d acquired in Newport was not of the first order, it had an edge that was keen enough and
nicks that attested to its experience. And he had other weapons, too. Reaching again into the trunk, he pulled out his tomahawk,
thrust it beside the sword into his belt. Then, as he heard the pipes call ‘All
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