B00EF19YY8 EBOK

  Rebel Raiders

  Book 1 in the

  Lucky Jack’s Civil War series

  By

  Griff Hosker

  Published by Griff Hosker 2013

  Copyright © Griff Hosker First Edition

  The author has asserted their moral right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.

  All Rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, copied, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written consent of the copyright holder, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

  Cover photograph by the author

  Dedication

  Dedicated especially to my American readers who have encouraged me to write this series. I hope you like it. Thanks to Rich for his advice and Mike for his patience and hospitality. A huge thank you to the re-enactors of the 150th Gettysburg Battle- I admire your dedication to detail.

  Table of contents

  The Beginning Page 6

  Chapter 1 Page 19

  Chapter 2 Page 40

  Chapter 3 Page 61

  Chapter 4 Page 79

  Interlude Page 105

  Chapter 5 Page 110

  Chapter 6 Page 130

  Chapter 7 Page 142

  Chapter 8 Page 162

  Interlude Page 166

  Chapter 9 Page 185

  Chapter 10 Page 207

  Interlude Page 222

  Chapter 11 Page 230

  Chapter 12 Page 254

  Chapter 13 Page 277

  Chapter 14 Page 298

  Chapter 15 Page 313

  Chapter 16 Page 338

  Chapter 17 Page 359

  Epilogue Page 362

  Glossary Page 373

  Historical note Page 376

  Other books Page 379

  For those who wish to get straight to the Civil War action, and I know there are some of you out there, then go to Chapter 4. The first part is the back story of how Jack Hogan gets to be a Civil War Ranger. It is your book, use it however you want to.

  The Beginning

  London 1842

  The Right Honourable Reginald St.John Beauregard looked to be at least ten years older than he actually was. One of the Prince Regent’s drinking cronies, he had lived the high life until the king had died in 1830. After that his life went downhill rapidly and the enemies he had made while in the king’s company now gathered like crows around a corpse. He had married well on the strength of his friendship with reprobate Prince but the years following King George’s death had seen his fortunes plummet. Once Victoria ascended the throne in 1837 then his life became even worse as a more austere tone was adopted by most of the gentry. By the time his wife died in 1840 then all of his connections with money and power went leaving him and his only son, Arthur, to eke out a living. By the standards of most of the people of Britain eking is the wrong word for they had servants and ate well but it was not the lifestyle to which both father and son had become accustomed.

  As he sat in the one club which still accepted him as a member, he knew that he had to do something quickly or the creditors would close in and he would be thrown into a debtor’s prison. His royal connections had all been severed. Sitting at the card table he saw a chance to rescue his fortunes. Young Lord Fitzgerald was drunk and he was a poor card player. Beauregard had learned how to cheat well during his days as a rake. The unfortunate young lord had been deserted by his friends, who could have warned him of his opponent but they had departed with the ladies of the night. Having played cards for ten hours, the Right Honourable Reginald St.John Beauregard had already taken five hundred guineas in cash from Lord Fitzgerald and now the young drunk made the cardinal error of staking one of his family’s many estates in Ireland on the turn of a card. Reginald had only one small house in London and the thought of being a landowner in Ireland appealed. He reasoned that it would be cheaper to live in Ireland than London. When he threw his winning hand face up Lord Fitzgerald merely stood, shrugged his shoulders and said, “You are a lucky fellow Beauregard. Now where are those doxies?”

  Beauregard clutched the piece of paper tightly in his fist. He and his son now owned a manor house and twenty farms in some place called Tallow in County Wexford. He had an income at last. He would be able to buy Arthur, his son, a commission in a decent regiment and assure his future. His luck had changed for the better, at last.

  Tallow, Ireland 1850

  The Hogan house was little more than a pile of rocks with a door. Mary kept it as clean as she could but everything within it had been made by her or her husband and tending the land took every waking minute of every day. It was hard farming in Ireland and the potatoes had failed so many times lately that they had not even been able to feed themselves. The odd cabbage they grew had to augment their frugal diet. Mary had had to rely on the good offices of the church to help provide food for her four children. Now that Caitlin, her eldest, was older she could help with the younger children and Jack helped his father in the fields but, even so, it was hard to provide anything beyond a hand to mouth existence.

  She stirred the cabbage and rabbit stew as she waited for her husband John and her two eldest children to return from the fields. It was raining again and they would be soaked when they eventually arrived. That would mean they would have to dry their clothes on the peat fire while they shivered in their nakedness. At least the two young ones, Colm and Eileen were both safe and dry inside the one roomed hut which passed for a home. The turf roof kept out the rain but the wind had a way of finding gaps in the un-mortared stones which made up the walls. She smiled wryly; at least it blew the smoke up the chimney and stopped them coughing all night. She peered into the pot. This was the third meal that had been made from the rabbit Jack had trapped and it was now just a thin soup with a few nettles and cabbage stalks to add to the flavour. She hoped the warmth would bring a little colour into the cheeks of the two youngest children. They had looked like ghosts for the last two days and their coughs had become worse.

  When John arrived back with Jack and Caitlin, Mary knew that they had toiled long and hard with little reward for their labours. John gave a sad smile, “We have a couple of taties and that is all my love.”

  “Never mind. Jack’s rabbit still has a little life left in it.”

  Jack swelled with pride. “Sure and I can check me traps again ma, if you like?”

  “No, sweet boy, you are wet enough as it is. Wait till the sun comes out.”

  John shook his head as they huddled around the miserably weak peat fire. “I am sorry to say that this miserable land rarely sees the sun. Perhaps we ought to go to America like cousin Paddy.”

  “No John. This is our home; we’ll talk when the wee ones are asleep.” She inclined her head with a sharp stare. It did not do to cross the fiery redhead.

  Later when the exhausted elder children slept and the younger ones coughed in their fitful sleep the two parents cuddled and huddled together. “We will not have a crop, my love. It is ruined again.”

  “We’ll have to see the squire then and ask for some help. He cannot keep taking and taking. We are due some help. This has been five hard and lean years.”

  “He is rarely here and the Englishman he has running the estate is a hard bastard.”

  “When does the squire return?”

  “When the crops are in.”

  She nodded firmly. “Then that is when we shall see him.”

  The Manor House

  The years had not been kind to S
t.John Beauregard. He looked haggard and drawn. He now drank more than he ate and his visits to Ireland were becoming more necessary than ever to allow him to escape his creditors. There were fewer men willing to gamble with him and all of his influence had evaporated. He was grateful to the ruthless estate manager, Andrew Neil, whom he had appointed to run his only source of income.

  He ran a bored eye over the columns of figures. “Damn it, Neil. All I need to know is, did we make money this year?”

  Andrew Neil knew his master well. Lies would only come back to haunt him He delivered the truth but he already had a solution in the back of his mind. “We will be lucky to break even my lord. The crops have failed again.”

  The Honourable Reginald, or, as he liked to style himself these days, Lord Tallow, sank deeper into the chair and quaffed the glass of port he held. “So I am ruined.”

  “Not yet, my lord. We will get little if we sell the land but we could turn it over to sheep. They are cheap enough and they do not need many men. I could evict all the tenants and hire a couple of shepherds.”

  “But that costs money!”

  “Not so much. I can get you a flock for a hundred pounds. Next year we would clear five hundred with the lambs and the year after…”

  The image of an income in excess of five hundred pounds a year was attractive. It would help support Arthur in the Guards and he could live off the remainder in this rambling manor house that he had acquired when he had cheated Lord Fitzgerald. He had enough credit left to be able to buy the sheep and it would, at least stop the whining of the peasants who seemed to think he owed them some responsibility.

  “Good. See to it.” He suddenly wondered how his manager would go about it. “You’ll tell them they are evicted then?”

  “Aye.” He hesitated. “Some of them may be a little angry my lord.”

  There was an unspoken request in the big man’s voice. “You need help then?”

  “A couple of lads with muskets would keep them in order. I can get some old soldiers for a few pence.”

  “A few pence then.“ A sudden though struck the English man. “Wait until after Sunday then; my son Arthur will be over. He can keep an eye on things.”

  “As you wish my lord.”

  Arthur St.John Beauregard was a tall and distinguished looking officer. His red uniform had been especially tailored for him and had been cut to accentuate his fine features. Although his father had only obtained a Captain’s commission for him he was satisfied enough. It was just a pity that there were no major wars at present, for death provided the best and cheapest promotions. As he rode his black stallion along the road leading from the port he reflected that his father’s estates were no place to bring those he wished to impress. The land was dirty and dismal. The people were even dirtier and drearier. The only draw to this country was the hunting which was cheaper than in England and he would be the best dressed of the huntsmen. Here he was the cock of the walk whilst in England he was a Johnnie come lately. When his father explained what Neil would be doing it brightened the arrogantly harsh features of the captain’s face.

  “You mean they might actually try to stand up to Neil? How amusing although I would have thought there was little need to hire men. The two of us will do this.” In his head he was already picturing one of the Irish peasants standing up to him. He saw a riding crop in his hand as he whipped it down across the unfortunate man’s face. Oh they would remember him, of that he was certain.

  They rode from the manor house with pistols in holsters on their saddles. Neil carried a cudgel whilst the young officer had a sabre and riding crop. The look on his face was one of anticipated pleasure. He was disappointed when the first three families they evicted trudged off weeping and wailing but without any sign of resistance. As they headed towards the fifth family Arthur turned to his companion. “Are they all spineless jellyfish here?”

  “I am afraid that the next family might be trouble your lordship. The first four were small families with only one man to deal with but the Murphy family is more like a clan. There are some big bruisers there.”

  “Good then we shall teach them a lesson, eh, about how we English deal with bruisers? What is the chap’s name?”

  “Michael Murphy your lordship.”

  Word had spread in the small farming community and the Murphy clan was ready. The three men who lived in the farm had been augmented by their three uncles. Ironically, two of the uncles were some of the very men that Andrew Neil would have hired to evict the tenant farmers. They were old soldiers and knew their way around a fight.

  Captain St.John Beauregard deigned to dismount and rapped haughtily on the door with his riding crop. Michael Murphy, who had a chest as wide as the door, dipped his head under the lintel and stood there, looking the Captain straight in the eyes.

  “Are you Michael Murphy?” The farmer nodded insolently. “Well we are evicting you. The potatoes don’t pay and we need the land for sheep.”

  “And you have paperwork for this your lordship?” Michael was clever and he knew he had to stay on the right side of the flimsy law of the land.

  The others had been easily intimidated and Arthur was slightly disconcerted. “What paperwork?”

  “Well your lordship you can only evict us if we are in arrears.” He stared stonily at Andrew Neil. “And are we in arrears Mr Neil?”

  Arthur looked hopefully at his manager but he saw only downcast eyes and a shake of the head. “Well it makes no never mind anyway. I want you and your family off my father’s property by midnight.”

  “Or?” The question seemed to make the young officer confused. He looked at his manager for aid. “What will happen if we do not move off the land?”

  “We will throw you off!” This was better. Arthur might actually get a fight out of them.

  “Just the two of you; mighty strong words.” He sighed. “Well I think we will just let you try.” He turned to go back into the house and heard the sound of metal and leather as the Captain of Guards drew his pistol and raised it. Michael turned slowly around. His face was but a yard away from the end of the gun. No-one could miss at that range; certainly not the officer who practised for hours on the range. “Ah well I see that you have a persuasive argument.” He smiled which unnerved Arthur. The man should be a quivering wreck and yet he stood confidently looking at him. “You see I have another argument of my own.” He waved his arm and pointed behind the officer. Keeping his pistol aimed at the huge target Arthur turned his head and saw two Brown Bess muskets pointed at him while two pitchforks threatened his manager. The Murphy boys looked after their own.

  St.John Beauregard blanched and turned back to the head of the Murphy clan. “I’ll have the magistrate on to you.”

  “Saying what? You have no papers and you have not sought the law. You have threatened us and all I am doing is defending me and my family.” He stepped up close to Arthur and said quietly but with great conviction. “Now feck off you jumped up little popinjay before I knock you off your horse.”

  The two men had to endure the cries of derision as they wheeled their horses and slunk away like a pair of beaten dogs. St.John Beauregard’s face was now effused and red, replacing the shocked white of a few moment’s earlier. He had been humiliated by a peasant! He glared at his companion. “Anything I should know about the next family? Are they likely to be armed and threaten my life?”

  “No sir. John Hogan has no brothers and his eldest boy is little more than a child.”

  “Good! I will deal with the Murphy family another day when I have some of the local militia with me.” He was certain he could use his influence to coerce the local soldiers to help him. They were all supporters of the English rule in this part of the world.

  John Hogan had heard of the threat which was coming his way and he stood at the door awaiting them with Mary clinging to his arm. Her eyes were ringed with shadows and she was a shadow of her former self. Since her two youngest had died, the week before last, she had pined and mou
rned. She had blamed herself for their deaths and John had had to spend every waking minute convincing her otherwise. This new threat was the last straw. John’s eyes blazed with anger. This was his land and no-one had the right to throw him off it.

  This time the captain had his sword in his hand. He would intimidate the man from the first. “You, Hogan, we are evicting you from my land! You and your family must leave now!” His voice became piping and screeching as he screamed his anger in the face of John Hogan.

  “Your land? I haven’t seen you working it. And I thought it belonged to your father or has he died and we haven’t heard the good news yet?”

  Had it been just John present then the tragedy might have been avoided. However Mary, his wife was there. She saw the sabre flash in the air then her guilt about the death of her youngest child rushed into her head and she threw herself towards the wickedly sharp blade. In her head she was trying to protect her husband. She had no way of knowing that the soldier only intended to frighten John and the blade would miss his head. It did not miss Mary and almost severed her head from her body. She slumped to the ground spraying blood on the black stallion. Arthur was as shocked as anyone. This was not how it was supposed to be. He had expected to fight a man and not kill an unarmed woman. He had intended to wave the sword in front of the farmer and frighten him. He had not intended to take the woman’s life.

  John reacted as any red blooded husband would do. He grabbed Arthur’s left arm and pulled him from his horse. His huge fist crashed into the nose of the handsome young officer smashing and breaking the bone. His second punch struck the bloody face of Arthur St.John Beauregard in the mouth. Andrew Neil heard the jaw crack. He had to do something. If Arthur continued to be beaten then he would lose his very lucrative job. He pulled his own pistol and fired into the side of John Hogan’s head. The huge ball went through the brain as though it was butter and half of the farmer’s head splashed blood and grey matter all over the fine red uniform of the officer. Neither John nor Mary had any time before their deaths to think of Caitlin and Jack but the two orphans had witnessed it all as they cowered inside the hovel that had been their home.