A Hanging at Dawn: A Bess Crawford Short Story Read online

  “How long have you been in the Army, may I ask?”

  “Four and a half months, ma’am.” He was watching as Ram followed his directions, but taking his time about it—as he’d been instructed to do.

  “And what made you decide to become a soldier?”

  “The excitement of traveling, ma’am.”

  It was a ready answer, as if he’d used it often.

  “Do you like it? Soldiering?”

  “I can’t answer that. So far, there’s been nothing but training.”

  “You’re a well-spoken young man. Have you considered becoming an officer?”

  “No, ma’am. I am happy where I am.”

  Time to try a different tactic.

  “I’ve been on a battlefield, Private Brandon. It’s anything but exciting. In fact, it’s quite terrifying and chaotic. Sometimes hard to tell friend from foe, and the smell of gunpowder and blood and the sweat of busy men is all you know as you struggle to stay alive by the end of the day.”

  He turned to stare at me. Dark hair, dark eyes. Good bones. His features hadn’t fully formed at fourteen, but I thought he was going to become a rather handsome young man in due course. He was slim but filling out with his training, and if I was right, he was very likely going to be as tall as my late husband, over six feet. Good hands, well shaped, and a generous mouth, belying the anger I could sense in him. He was enduring training, I thought, eager to get on with the main event.

  “When were you on a battlefield?” he challenged. Then, remembering his manners, “Ma’am?”

  I could see, quite clearly, that he thought I was making it up. And so I told him the truth.

  “In India, in the Great Sepoy Rebellion. It was a bloody time. I was only a child, but there was no sparing any child’s sensibilities, when there was so much death all around. I have seen men with the most terrible wounds, and felt helpless to save them. I watched women weep over children dying of cholera, and children weeping over parents who died in the agonies of fever. It was an experience that haunts my dreams even now. But I think it made me stronger, more determined to survive. That has stood me in good stead for much of my life. It has not been an easy one, although it has had its moments.”

  I’d watched his eyes as I spoke.

  He regarded me for a moment, and then he said, “I can’t imagine going through that as a child. I’m sorry.”

  Surprised, I added, “Have you considered the fact that you could be wounded? Killed? We are presently at peace, of course, but there are still wars. In Sudan, against the Mahdi. That was a small war, but men died. Prisoners were tortured.”

  “I think I’m prepared for it, ma’am.”

  There was a tightness in his voice that I understood—he’d fought other battles that had left their own terrible scars. He’d been the scapegoat because his mother had disappointed her father, then failed to live long enough to be punished for it herself. Or to protect her child from what was to come. And instead of breaking under such treatment, he had endured.

  I was beginning to understand something else. This boy—this man—had spent most of his life with adults around him. I doubted if he’d had playmates or friends his own age.

  His grandfather, the household staff, the tutors. Not one of whom teased the child or romped with him across the lawns, hiding with him from those very tutors, begging Cook for treats. None of the things of childhood that made memories and brought joy.

  Changing directions, I said, “Did you have a dog, as a child?”

  “No, ma’am.” It was curt, inviting no further questions. “I did have horses.”

  “I had a pet monkey, once. An orphan, then it grew up and ran off to join the others of its kind in the temple. My mother thought it a disgusting creature. She was just as glad to see the end of it. Of course I adored it, sitting on my shoulder as I walked about, making the ladies nervous for fear it might leap onto their shoulders at any moment.”

  He smiled suddenly, and I saw a very different side of him. The fourteen-year-old.

  “There were kittens in the barn. A black male by the name of Dickens would follow me around outside, but he never ventured as far as the house.”

  Ram was drawing up outside Major MacInnes’s quarters.

  I said, “Thank you, Private Brandon, for making my journey less tedious.”

  “My pleasure, ma’am.” Whether it was true or not, he was polite enough to say so.

  I had listened carefully, and I’d heard little warmth in his voice. Except for that brief moment about the monkey. There was nothing personal in his coolness. Simply stated, it was suppressed anger that drove him. Clearly his grandfather had killed any outward display of emotions. And Simon had learned one lesson very well—that feelings were an easy way inside one’s armor, a chink that invited unexpected attacks. And so he had hidden any of his so deep that no chinks appeared on the surface. Only the anger showed through.

  “Good luck with your future. I hope we will meet again someday.”

  “Indeed, ma’am. Thank you.”

  He handed me from the carriage and escorted me to the door, passing me on to the Officer of the Day.

  “Has it changed much?” the Major asked after warmly greeting me. “The post?”

  “Not terribly. The young do look younger every year, however.”

  He laughed, offering me a chair and tea. I declined the tea, and he sat down across from me.

  The laughter was gone now. We had other, more serious matters to attend to.

  “What did you think of our young man? What are we to do with him?”

  “I think he ought to become the soldier he wants so desperately to be.”

  Surprised, the Major looked at me.

  “He’s underage—”

  “Yes, I know. But there are two reasons why he was able to get this far before anyone caught him. One is his size. The other is the fact that he’s been surrounded by adults all his life, and he isn’t a child in his mind. Perhaps hasn’t been for a very long time. My guess is that he’s more mature than some of the eighteen-year-olds who pass through your hands.”

  “That’s an interesting observation,” he said thoughtfully, but he was still frowning. “Would you send a child into battle?”

  Instead of replying directly, I asked, “Is his grandfather searching for him? Does he want him back?”

  “We’ve made discreet inquiries. Apparently he considers his grandson dead. He has not called in the police or made any search for the boy. And from what I gather, he never will. He isn’t a man who easily bends.”

  “His grandson has learned that from him.”

  He cleared his throat. “I believe what the Colonel actually wanted was for you to take him off our hands. He can’t stay in the Army, Mrs. Crawford. He can’t go home. It’s a waste to send a lad like that out into the world to fend for himself. There’s value there, Mrs. Crawford. I see it, his Sergeant sees it. Brandon never complains, he’s no slacker at anything asked of him and often outperforms those older than he is. Because of his physical abilities, he doesn’t tire, fall behind, or fail. Give him several more years, and the Regiment would be very pleased to have him.”

  “I have no right to take him. I am not related to him. I have no legal authority to become his guardian.”

  “Do you think that’s required? In this case?”

  “We are a household of women, except for a temperamental cook, and Ram, my majordomo. He will resent that, and he will run away and enlist somewhere else. Scotland, Wales—and if he’s found out, he’ll try yet again. Surely you see that. And I cannot force him to return to my house, even if I find him.”

  He sighed. “Yes. I do see it. I know myself I’d chafe in his place and be angrier still. But what can we do? He isn’t of legal age to make his own decisions. We shall have no choice but to return him to his grandfather.”

  “I shudder to think how he will be received in that house. It will only make him more determined to go as soon as someone’s back is
turned.”

  “I don’t believe he’s been physically abused—beaten—” the Major began, but I cut across his words.

  “I doubt his grandfather would have him beaten. But there are other abuses—mental anguish and withholding of warmth or love—that can bring just as much pain as physical blows. And I have a feeling his grandfather knows how to wield those with energy and passion.”

  “The anger? Yes. I’m told he didn’t fight back—he simply endured—waited to leave as soon as he could.” He shook his head. “The Colonel will be as disappointed as I am that we haven’t a solution. You’ve made this journey for nothing.”

  “Not quite nothing.” I had already thought of an answer. But the Army is the Army and doesn’t take lightly to change of any kind.

  “How does he get along with the other recruits? The other Sergeants, whom I expect don’t know the truth about him?”

  Wary, Major MacInnes said, “Well enough. He won’t take anything from anyone, and he pursues his training with determination.” He added as if forced to be truthful, “There are no complaints on his record. He has been in several fights. In each case he was provoked, and then gave a good account of himself. He accepted his punishment without objections.” He played with a button on the sleeve of his uniform, and I waited.

  “The odd thing is, I believe he’s bent all his will toward proving himself. He wants this very badly, and that compels him to succeed. He will do his best not to make any mistakes, because they could cost him what he wants. What’s more, he’s better educated than most recruits, and this helps him learn faster. In someone older, I’d call this determination admirable. In fact, the makings of a remarkable officer someday. In Brandon, it’s rather sad to see such dedication wasted.”

  “Then I suggest we let him complete it. His training.”

  “But to what purpose? It will be several more years before he’s old enough to serve. And he’s a child among rough men.”

  “You just told me he gave a good account of himself.”

  “Their language—their stories—these aren’t fit for his ears.”

  “Major. Did you have older brothers?”

  “I—yes, but I don’t see—”

  “I would imagine that at twelve you could swear like a stable boy if put to it. And it did no lasting harm to your family’s expectations for you.”

  He had the grace to blush. “That’s not the same.”

  “Oh, I agree. But a bootblack at a hotel has no such protection from the vulgar in life. His family is his wits. He has to grow up quickly if he’s to survive. I think we ought to find out just what this young man is made of. Who knows? We might be pleasantly surprised. Then we can decide what should be done about him.”

  “I don’t see—the Army isn’t—and this isn’t fair to Brandon.”

  “I think giving him a chance to prove himself is immensely fair. The last thing we wish to do is break his spirit. His grandfather couldn’t, and it would be wrong of us to break him in the name of Regulations. Keep an eye on him. Find something to do with him when he ought to be on leave. Some course or other, that won’t smack of favoritism. Or punishment. That’s where the danger to his safety will lie. The first drunken brawl in a pub, and the truth will come out.”

  “He doesn’t appear to gravitate toward that sort of crowd.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. But there will be women who are eager to provide an education in other directions. Syphilis has been the downfall of many a promising soldier.”

  He flushed a little at my plain speaking. “I’ve no doubt.”

  “Could young Brandon complete his training, if he were allowed?”

  “It’s highly irregular. If we’d never known, of course, he might well have completed it.”

  “He might well fail, solving the problem for us.”

  MacInnes shook his head. “What if he doesn’t?”

  I rose. “Keep me informed of his progress. Then I will see to his future.”

  Not certain whether he was relieved or not, the Major smiled. “Thank you.”

  “Not at all. Now, what about that luncheon you promised me?”

  It was irregular, I had to agree, I thought, traveling back to Kent. But I’d taken to young Brandon. I wanted to see whether he could finish what he’d started. I’d been a part of the Army most of my life, I probably knew more about how it worked than the Major, and possibly more than Harris. There had been many cases of boys passing themselves off as old enough to enlist. Some had been caught, others hadn’t. And telling the Major that I would take over had been all he needed to hear to humor me now.

  Over the weeks ahead, I received regular reports on young Brandon’s progress, and much to the Major’s dismay—I could read that between the lines—the boy had done everything that was asked of him. And when I returned to the Regiment and met him again, even I was surprised at what I found.

  He had filled out—I was sure he’d grown another inch taller—and he was quite proud, in a quiet way, of what he’d accomplished. And I think he realized for the first time that he had worth. That he had earned something his grandfather could never diminish or take from him.

  I was rather pleased that he remembered me. “Good morning, Mrs. Crawford,” he’d greeted me. “I believe you know your way?”

  “I do.” I’d told Ram to tell the Duty Officer that he needed an escort. And the Major had arranged for him to be available. “But I miss my days here. Sit with me and tell me what you thought of the training. How did you fare?”

  “Well enough, I expect. I’m looking forward to joining the Regiment. It’s presently in India, I believe.”

  “Yes, so I’ve been told,” I replied affably. “A cousin of mine is a Captain out there.”

  His ears pricked up. “Indeed?” But he didn’t ask for an introduction, which I found very interesting. He wanted to make even that step on his own merit.

  “Traveling out there is easier than it was in my parents’ day. Still, it’s a long way from home.”

  “I don’t have any close ties here. Unlike some of the men, who are married. It will be easier for me.”

  “Any young woman in your future?”

  “Not at present, ma’am.”

  “And here we are. At the Major’s office. How are you at languages, young man? India has more than its share. I learned them as a child, like a sponge, soaking them up from servants and villagers. But I understand they can be difficult for many people, and the written language has no Western alphabet to help one.”

  “I was taught French, and found it easy enough.”

  It was the only time he’d spoken of his past. “That’s a good start,” I agreed, as he turned me over to my escort at the Major’s quarters. “The very best of luck, Private Brandon.”

  Major MacInnes was—to put it mildly—delighted to see me.

  “I’ve kept my part of the bargain,” he said. “I’m eager to hear what you will do with our young man.”

  “He’s finished his training? Sergeant Davis is satisfied with his progress?”

  “He appears to be quite satisfied. I don’t believe he expected Brandon to finish. And I have a feeling, knowing the Sergeant, that he never stinted his training. If anything, he pushed Brandon just a bit harder than he pushed any other recruit in his charge.”

  “I’m glad to hear that. And I’ve spoken to Harris—the Colonel—on my way through London. He’s agreed to my suggestion.” I neglected to mention that I’d had to persuade him to consider my point of view. “I have a cousin out in India, an officer in the Regiment. Up in the North-West Frontier. They’re sending five casualties home to England, and they’ve requested five men to replace them. Young Brandon will be one of them.”

  The Major stared at me, openmouthed, then snapped it shut as he realized how he must look. “This is highly irregular—” he began.

  “Well, I’ve known Richard Crawford all of his life. I think he’s the perfect choice to take this young man and find out just what h
e’s made of.”

  “Major Crawford?”

  I raised my eyebrows.

  “I happened to see the list of promotions. He’s just been given his majority.’

  “Even better,” I agreed. “Then you’ll arrange that Private Brandon is on that ship to India?”

  “I don’t see that I have much choice. If Colonel Clifford has agreed. But I can’t think—it’s a huge step from training in the safety of England and sending a boy out where fighting is common.”

  I smiled. “It isn’t the end of the world, Major. He may turn out to be an excellent soldier. And if he doesn’t, we can all profess surprise that he is underage.”

  “I expect that will not be the best defense at a court martial,” he said dryly.

  I smiled. “There are two matters I must put to you, from Colonel Clifford. First is, as I understand it, there are only four people who know that Brandon is underage. It will remain among the four of us. No one else will be told. And no mention will be made of his past. He’s just a young man from Essex—or Yorkshire—or wherever he claims to have come from, who wants to be a soldier. It will not help him succeed if he realizes he’s an object of either curiosity or pity.”

  “Not even Major Crawford or his superiors should be told?”

  “No. Let’s give Brandon a chance to show his talents. Or lack thereof. Harris—Colonel Clifford agrees with me that he should be treated just like any other soldier. Nothing from his past should follow him. We are also agreed there?”

  “Again, I appear not to have much choice.”

  He was a little uneasy. But, of course, by the time lunch was over, I had him supporting the suggestion as if it were his own brilliant idea.

  Just as Colonel Clifford had agreed with me by the time we’d finished dinner. Men are always more amenable after a good meal and a little wine.

  What no one knew was that I wrote to Richard out in India. As soon as I was back in Kent. After congratulating him on his promotion, I went on:

  The Regiment is sending you the five men I’ve been told you requested to complete your roster. One of them I wish to call to your attention, dear Richard. He’s too young to be a soldier. But he’s completed his training with honor. Keep an eye on him, if you please, and keep me informed of his progress. He doesn’t know that I have taken an interest in him. Best to keep it that way. But I’m a fairly good judge of men. I must tell you that he’s carrying a heavy burden of anger with him. Still, his father was a fine soldier, an officer, and while Brandon doesn’t wish to go that direction, in time he might. Give my love to little Bess. I do miss her so! And love to Clarissa as well. Please tell her I am sending some new books out to her shortly. And know you are always dear to my heart.