Read Online Dubious Allegiance by Don Gutteridge - Free Book Online Page A

And for a while at least, he was not unhappy to buckle on his sabre and scabbard.
    The John Bull, weighed down with eight infantry companies, four guns, and assorted baggage, tried to ram its way through the ever-thickening ice of the Richelieu River. Three hours and one mile later, Colonel Gore admitted defeat. So, shortly after noon on this first day of December, Gore’s brigade was once again on the river road. Whereas a week ago it had been wet snow, rain, and a muddy morass that had made the twenty-mile trek to St. Denis a living hell, it was now the frozen ruts (their own, alas) that made their passage no better than travelling over a rock-strewn wasteland. A corduroy road in April would have been heaven.
    Despite the bone-jarring obstacles, they made good progress. The sun shone cold and bright. No skirmishers threatened from the occasional woods they had to pass through. When they marched into St. Ours at dusk, no sniper fired on themfrom the shuttered houses. Not a soul emerged to greet or spit at them. This time Gore called a halt, and the troops bivouacked for the night—to eat heartily and rest for the battle expected on the morrow.
    The next morning dawned bright and clear. All the omens were good. Colonel Gore addressed the assembled troops. He reminded them of their duty to the Queen, made ambiguous references to the misadventures of the previous week, and concluded by asking them to remember how Captain Weir had been slaughtered, mutilated, and tossed aside like a butchered calf. “Do not be fooled,” he said in a pinched, effeminate drawl, “into thinking that because the rebels have no uniforms they are not soldiers determined to kill you in a blink. A farmer with a pitchfork is as murderous as a fusilier. And it was ordinary-looking ploughmen who stabbed Captain Weir to death and laughed at his sufferings. Show no mercy. Our orders are to defeat these outlaws utterly. Their leaders will be captured and clapped in irons. Any farmer or householder known to have taken part in the revolt is to have his goods confiscated and his buildings put to the torch. I know you will all do your duty. May God be with you.”
    *   *   *
    They were within a mile of St. Denis when Captain Riddell rode up beside Marc and engaged him in conversation.
    â€œMajor Jenkin was telling me that you’ve been involved in several murder investigations.”
    â€œThat’s true.” Marc smiled, relieved for the chance to talkabout something other than war or politics. “I found them more diverting than cards and dice.”
    â€œEverybody in the mess knew about how you helped catch Councillor Moncreiff’s killer, but I hadn’t known about the other two.”
    â€œWell, I don’t boast about them, sir, because in my first investigation I managed to discover the killer, but he got away, in part because I wasn’t quick enough to nab him.”
    â€œBut you got him in the end?”
    â€œWith the help of others, yes. And his accomplice as well.”
    â€œWhat happened in the third case?”
    â€œWell, I did manage to solve it, but the killer bolted across the border.”
    Captain Riddell, a jolly, open-faced Englishman, laughed. “Two out of three, eh? That may be a higher success rate than our good colonel will ever achieve!”
    Marc acknowledged the point with a small, rueful smile.
    â€œYou did well out here last week,” Riddell said, suddenly grave. “You’re a natural soldier: no-one would have guessed it was your first engagement.”
    â€œThank you, sir.”
    â€œBy the way, I’ve written to Ensign Hilliard’s father. We’ll all miss him.”
    Marc nodded, and they rode on in respectful silence.
    They were approaching the creek where they had had so much trouble trying to save their twenty-four-pounder. The makeshift bridge had since been blown to pieces, but the cannon lay as they had left it—snout down