JIT – Journey in Time ~ (Part 2 of 4)

 JIT – Journey in Time ~ (Part 2 of 4) 

By John Abbott

The Colonel called in his Captain, spoke a few unintelligible sentences, presumably in Swedish, and the Captain then beckoned me to follow him. I bowed my head in appreciation to Colonel Stalhaus, and followed his Captain, whilst attempting to slow my surge of silent celebration. The Captain led me to another room further down the hall, whereupon he gestured that I should wait outside. As I stood with my back to the room, he entered and I heard more of his native tongue, also someone replying. I pivoted as I heard footsteps approaching.

"Hello me lad!" bellowed a somewhat overweight soldier who was obviously a Scot by his accent. He shook me by the hand.

"So, you're for enlisting, are you lad?"

For the first time in days I appeared cautious.

"I want to travel to Wurzburg for the Colonel."

The Scot bellowed back

"Yes laddie, I know. But first you must sign the necessary paperwork!” 

It seemed as though paperwork would haunt me to the end of my days. I showed him my letter of introduction from Sir Edward Conway, who had been the English Secretary of State since 1623.

It appeared to have little affect as I was taken through reams of rules and regulations. The paperwork was in German, of which I understood some when spoken, but little when written. The Scot, a Campbell by birthright I understand, tried to explain most of it to me. Essentially, it meant that as long as I complied with the regulations laid down, then I would receive a small sum of coinage every month along with food and lodging. The lodging was not yet arranged, but would be dealt with upon arrival at Wurzburg. My contract was to expire on the last day of December 1634. I was to join a small advance company the next day, and would take all further instructions from a Captain Fraser - yet another Scotsman.

The next morning I rose from my slumbers early, to find myself a little nervous. Although I felt a tiny amount of expectancy, it seemed heavily outweighed by grave misgivings; my fears, no doubt of the unknown, were hard to suppress.

I think it prudent at this juncture in time to make one point abundantly clear. My knowledge of war, and life, come to think of it, had been relatively limited. Of course, I had heard stories and read pamphlets, but seen little. My schooling was the basis for my experience so far; which although extensive, hardly prepared me for a trip on foreign soil, and a war. The skills I had learnt at school, first at Ludlow Grammar then at Grays Inn in London, were heavy with lectures, and notebooks crammed with instruction were crucial. The hours had been long and the discipline severe; flogging was frequent. Holidays had been very short, and I had often wrote long letters home to my father. I had trained for service abroad at Grays Inn, where I had struggled to master Latin and obtain some knowledge of French, whilst gaining some valuable experience in administration and law. It was much easier to excel at fencing, dancing and the riding of the high horse. All said and done, I later found that this had definitely not prepared me for the experiences ahead. How foolish of me to think otherwise!

I carefully packed my few belongings into my haversack, rolled my bedroll tightly and tied it. As I threw my cloak around my shoulders, I took a final glance around the spartan surroundings; one small, low wooden bed, one chair, a small washbowl, and a single unlit candle upon the floor. I contemplated the future and wondered when I would next have the opportunity to sleep in a bed, or indeed, when I would next have any sleep at all. As I left the room and went down the stairs towards the inn's kitchen, I steered my thoughts towards acquiring some bread and sausage for breakfast rather than allowing myself any more careless musing upon the future.

Fortunately, I had already made an arrangement with the innkeeper about breakfast. For a few coins, he had promised that his wife would leave enough to sustain me for the day. I found a small loaf, two medium-sized leberwurst - or liver-sausage to us English, and a carafe of wine: a veritable feast. I gathered the food and wine into a spare sack which had thoughtfully been left, no doubt, by the innkeeper's wife. As I strode off under a grey January sky to meet Captain Fraser and to begin my journey to Wurzburg, my spirits were high.

When I reached the small square, my muster point, my anticipation increased. Within the square, the sides of which were certainly no more than a hundred yards each, was all manner of military paraphernalia, the like of which I had not seen since Briel. There were two wagons and, at a glance, twenty to thirty horses, surrounded by a couple of hundred people, at least. Not that they were all soldiers; far from it, in fact! There were all sorts of people, and even some women.

When I spotted Captain Fraser, unmistakable because of his fiery orange beard, it became obvious to me that the majority of these people were the inevitable hangers-on. He was gesticulating wildly at the crowd and his roaring voice was easily the loudest I had ever heard. It was some minutes before I managed to assess exactly what was happening. Of actual troops, there were but twenty-five to thirty, and one of the wagons appeared heavily laden with barrels of wine and beer. So heavily laden, in fact, that the soldiers had decided to transfer half its load to the second wagon, which had the effect of bringing forward a small collection of the local populace set on acquiring anything that the opportunity might present. Hence the apparent chaos and the bellowing Scotsman. Mr Fraser, or the Captain, as I should now refer to him, was slowly gaining control of the situation. Half of the soldiers were ordered to force the crowd back, not only to stop them hindering the movements from one wagon to the other, but also to prevent the scaring of the horses which, for the moment, were being kept relatively calm by a few soldiers on my right. As things quietened the crowd began to disperse realizing that there were to be no easy pickings here - not today, maybe tomorrow.

 

The Captain introduced himself to me.

“Mister Vincent, no doubt!"

He must have got a decent description of me from Mr Campbell, which would not have been as hard as one might imagine. Although my clothes were similar to many in the crowd, breeches, tunic, white shirt and a cloak, my hair was cut pretty short, just below my ears, and it was very blonde - almost white. We exchanged pleasantries, then Fraser went on to explain the situation surrounding his merry band.

 

Captain Fraser's advance company consisted of the two wagons, whose contents were to be quietly delivered to Wurzburg with the aid and protection of twenty-seven stout-hearted soldiers of the Swedish army. I was to become number twenty-eight. Much to my surprise, Fraser pointed out to me that I should not mention the documents to another soul within the group. It seemed that with every day that passed, my documents seemed to acquire a greater significance. He assumed that I could ride, which was one of my few skills. I was given a choice of two horses, one black and one dun. Although both appeared to be strong and healthy, I opted for the black horse, which bore the germanic name, 'Frederick'. I decided to rename him. 'Umbra', meaning shadow in Latin, would be his name whilst I rode him. It took another half an hour or so to finish loading the second wagon and sort out certain practicalities with the men and horses. I was vaguely introduced to one or two of the men, but Fraser said that I would get to know them better during the journey. He was right in a small way, I suppose, but fundamentally, he was wrong.

It was still early morning when we finally set off. I remember it well. There was a mass of large cloud formations as our two wagons and twenty-eight shrouded riders headed South under a sky that was a hundred shades of grey. I could almost smell the rain that seemed imminent.

 

Yet again, I shall not dwell upon our journey except to describe our environs. En route, the weather was relatively pleasant for winter, not too cold, much cloud with only a gentle sprinkling of January rains. The journey itself was uneventful, simply a series of long sore rides interspersed with short rest periods and small encampments around a single fire at night. Fraser showed every sign of wanting this journey to pass quickly, whilst the remainder of the party wished to travel slower and all appeared to resent Fraser's apparent haste. I had expected the countryside that we were crossing to be a little bare, after all it was winter, but as we traveled further South, the more barren it became. I attempted to close my mind as to the reasons why. It was during these winter days that I struck up a friendship of sorts with one of the company. I found myself having the opportunity to converse with one of them, a Finn named Sil.

 

I am often reflective on how little I knew about this motley group, and I find myself, especially now, realizing that I am little different to any of them deep down inside; just so much flotsam swimming against the tide. My first impressions were not wildly astray, only the judging of my own character now seems amiss. I only knew the names of four of my fellow travelers. Fraser with his fiery orange beard and resounding bellow of a voice, a true Scotish reiver from some mist-laden glen. Sil, whose minor problems of weight and birthright made him different from the rest. He was overly heavy, plump, and the fact that he emanated from the loins of a Finnish father was the constant source of teasing and merriment from within the company. But what really brought this sad outcast closer to me was the fact that he spoke some broken English, and was therefore the nearest I had to a colleague in this party. Fraser, being the Captain deliberately attempted to maintain an aloof air, and distanced himself from me regardless of our linguistic similarities. Then there was Presten, who, to be quite frank, scared me. This dark, brooding, sullen Swede, tall and strong, would sit deep into the night by the fire, and, as if hewn from rock, stare unsmiling into the darkness. He, if indeed any of us were, appeared perfectly crafted for the devil's work. The only other individual that I knew was Moss, which I felt certain was not his name but some old nickname from his past. He too, was tall and strong, with long golden hair, and sometimes, at least, he smiled at me, which had the effect of breaking down one or two of the many barriers that existed between us. He did not appear to be particularly intelligent, probably a farmhand or similar back home.

 

As for me, as I have already stated, only God will have the final opinion.

Under Fraser's guidance it only took us a few more days to reach our destination. Wurzburg itself held few surprises. Fraser had warned us that food was far from plentiful and grain prices were ridiculous. As soon as we arrived, Fraser arranged for the wagons to be delivered, whilst I was simply told where to deliver my documents. This I promptly did, and although I wasn't sure exactly what to expect, I soon found out.

 

(To be Continued)

 

Copyright John Abbott