February 1777 - Cheshire

Hagman tightened the strap on his pack and shouldered it. He took one last look at the cottage that had been his home for the past six years, ever since he'd wed, but he felt no pang to be walking out of it. Even if he stayed, they'd take it from him, soon enough. It was spotless, of course – to go leaving even a speck of dust behind would to be to let down his Mary, and even if one more failure didn't count much in the greater scheme of things, it was more than he could bear to think of.

He shut the door, and walked towards the inn and the sounds of raucous laughter and a beating drum.

"Dan? Lad?" his mother's voice was soft and pleading behind him. "Don't go lad, please."

"Oh, Mam." The lanky man turned and took the slight, careworn figure into his arms. "I mun go. If I don't, there's nowt here for me now but the grey of prison walls."

"What of me and your Dad, Dan? What of young Tom?"

"I shall send you money. You'll not want from my going, I swear."

"'Tis not your money the babe needs, but his father, and even if you did go to gaol for so long, you'd be here where the lad, and we, could see you. In a year, you'd be back at home, not under the ground, which you're like to be if you march away with yon redcoats."

Hagman untangled the arms that clung to him and stepped away. "I'm no good to you Mam, and less to the boy. You have him, and he has you, and in that you've both got the best of what I have to give you."

He could hear her weeping as he started again for the inn, but didn't turn.

"Have you come to join with us, me bonnie lad?" The burly Sergeant who stood at the centre of the crowd enquired as Hagman shouldered his way toward the front. "Tis a venturesome life in the army, and not for the faint of heart, but you look to me like a man who can handle himself. There's booty to be gained for a man like that, not to speak of maids - a red coat'll unlock many doors that homespun will not, I swear."

"Will it take me away from here, and keep me from gaol?"

"Aye lad, that it will. Prison bars are just such a barrier as a maiden's legs, bound to part at the call of King George. As for taking you away, why lad it'll take you as far as the sea and your two legs will carry you."

"Give my your shilling then, I'm with you. "

The big man grinned, and pushed a book over towards Hagman, a shilling upon the right hand page. "Sign there, lad, and get fell in with the others in the yard."

Laboriously, he formed the letters of his name, lifted the coin, and joined the small group milling outside. He saw instantly that he was a good five years older than the main of them, and nearly twice that on the youngest. These were no men, but boys, all apart from him.

"Dan!" He felt a tightening in his chest as he heard the voice. It was Davey, his Mary's youngest brother. The boy couldn't be seventeen, yet. "What are you doing here, man?" he asked, "Have you run mad?"

"I was never saner, Davey. There is nothing here for me but a cell, I have hopes of something better from the army."

"But ...there's Tom, Dan, and your cottage."

"His lordship will fill the cottage right soon, and my job along of it, no doubt. Why do you not speak to him, mayhap you could have both for yourself." He said nothing of his son, for what could he say?

"I'll do no good as a farmer or a keeper, Dan, yon grinding's not for me. I'm off for a soldier, to find glory and to make something of meself." Davey pulled himself up to his full height, a weedy five foot seven, and tried to look brave. He only succeeded in looking pathetic in his brother-in-law's eyes. Dan shook his head, sadly.

"Glory? You'll be more like to find a grave, lad."

"And will not you?"

"Aye, but then, it's a grave that I'm looking for. I'd be right glad to stay here if they hung a man for poaching, Davey, and that's God's truth, but they don't, so I must find my end in another place. But that's me Davey, not you. Slope off now, before they march us out of here."

Hagman knew he was talking to deaf ears. Davey was like all these lads, like the rest of the little Cheshire town, poor and cold and hungry. The only thing they could see was that army promised them full bellies, clothes and blankets, and most of all a chance grow rich on the loot that litters the battlefield. He couldn't blame them -- he just couldn't identify with them.

At length, the sergeant packed up his drum and his register, and strode thorough to the yard. He strode over to Hagman.

"I hear tell that you can play a fine fiddle, son, and that you're something of a singer too."

"Aye, I'm none so bad."

"Well, give us a merry tune then, lad, to set us up for the march. We've a ways to go, and we may as well start with light hearts."

With a nod he picked up his fiddle, tuning up as the Sergeant and his men passed among the recruits handing out bread, cheese and ale -- their first meal at the cost of his majesty. Hagman, served first, ate quickly, and then began to play. Laughter and cheers greeted the first verse

How happy the soldier who lives on his pay,
And spends half a crown on six pence a day;
He fears neither justices, warrants nor bums,
But pays all his debts with a roll of the drums,

By the second chorus, the rest of the rag-tag group were gaily bawling out Row de Dos and when the last strains died away, the Sergeant clapped a hand lightly on the Cheshireman's shoulder.

"Thank'ee, lad," he said quietly, then turned away and bawled "Now then, you lot, get yourself off your arses and kiss your mothers and sweethearts goodbye – you're in the army now boys, and you can't sit around all day like bloody farmers." The recruits scrambled hastily to their feet.

A few bellowed orders later, he had them shaped up in some form of order, and the drummer struck up a marching beat. Hagman set his step in time with it and began to walk.

Walking beside him, Davey craned his neck to look back at the fast disappearing cluster of houses that was Cherisbrooke, waving madly, but Dan spared no glance for the home he left behind. Instead he fixed his eyes on the horizon, and his thoughts on Chester, and his hopes on the sea and the Americas, where he would surely find the death he yearned for.