The Silent Frontier Read Free

little more than scum themselves. At least the Scots and Irish had the same Celtic blood, which the English had lost to the Angles and Saxons centuries before.
    ‘Get the bodies to the morgue,’ the officer commanded. ‘And be quick about it. The rising sun will soon make them stink.’
    ‘Yes sir,’ the Irish sergeant replied dutifully but with a note of barely concealed contempt. ‘Come away, lad,’ he said to Lachlan. ‘Your da will be looked after.’
    Reluctantly, Lachlan stood back as the wagon was moved on to seek out more bodies for transport.
    ‘What’s your name lad?’ the sergeant asked gently.
    ‘Lachlan MacDonald,’ the boy answered, wiping awaythe tears from his face with the sleeve of his dirty shirt now covered in his father’s blood. ‘Have you seen my brother Tom?’
    A faint smile appeared on the Irishman’s face. ‘I’m sorry, young Lachlan,’ he said. ‘But I do not know your brother.’
    ‘Tom stayed with Da,’ Lachlan explained, looking up into the face of the red-coated soldier where he thought he could see a hint of kindness. ‘Tom is old, like Da,’ the boy patiently explained.
    ‘Maybe you should stay beside me for the moment,’ the Irishman said. ‘I don’t think it is wise to wander around here alone right now. Besides, you might bump into Lieutenant Lightfoot again and I don’t think that would be a good idea, considering his comments about your father.’
    Lachlan knew that this friendly Irish soldier was somehow the enemy but he appeared to care for his welfare and so Lachlan warmed to the man. They walked towards the road that defined the rear of the roughly built palisade of timber and carts when the Irish sergeant suddenly stopped.
    ‘Duncan Campbell, would that be you?’ he called.
    Lachlan’s attention was drawn to a covered wagon drawn by a single horse and driven by a solid-looking, red-haired man sitting on the wagon seat.
    ‘Would that be Paddy Rourke addressing the likes of me?’ the man asked, a slow smile creasing the corners of his eyes.
    The Irish sergeant quickened his pace to the wagon, where he was met with a great bear hug.
    ‘I thought you would be dead by now,’ Paddy said. ‘I thought one of those heathens in India would have taken your God-cursed Gaelic soul to hell with him.’
    Duncan stood back. ‘And I heard the sounds of a great battle here just a few hours ago,’ Duncan said. ‘I neverguessed my old comrade in arms would be in the colonies fighting the good cause for the Queen, God bless her.’
    The Irish sergeant frowned. ‘I don’t think what has happened here today will appear on the regiment’s battle honours, Colour Sergeant Campbell,’ he said in a quiet voice. ‘Many of the boys of St Pat faced kith and kin here today and did not feel good about killing fellow Irishmen regardless of which side they were on. It was not a battle so much as a massacre.’
    ‘Who is the wee laddie with the long face?’ Duncan asked, turning his attention to Lachlan.
    ‘One of your own,’ Paddy replied. ‘A MacDonald, who goes by the moniker of Lachlan.’
    Duncan broke into a broad smile and extended his big, calloused hand. ‘A fine name for a Scot. An honour to meet you, Master Lachlan.’
    ‘Sergeant Rourke,’ a voice called from the stockade. ‘Get your men together and form up for a sweep of the hills.’
    ‘Sah,’ Paddy replied.
    ‘Now.’
    ‘Sah.’
    ‘I would be asking you for a small favour, Duncan,’ the Irish sergeant said. ‘I would be asking you to look after the wee lad until I get back to you. His father was one of those rebels who was killed in the fighting.’
    ‘I will do that for you, Sergeant Rourke,’ Duncan answered. ‘For old times’ sake and our serving together under the colours.’
    ‘Mr Campbell will look after you, lad,’ Paddy said, patting Lachlan awkwardly on the back.
    Paddy turned his back and marched smartly over to a detail of red-coated soldiers awaiting further orders. Behind