Sarum - Edward Rutherfurd [511]
There were so many places to fight.
And there was one great enemy: France.
Admittedly, England’s foreign policy in recent decades had not always been clear. There had been distractions, like the small war with Spain, who cast covetous eyes on Gibraltar. And the king had sometimes made alliances to protect his native Hanover, which were not even in England’s interest. But however the complex web of alliance, treachery, and diplomacy between the many states of Europe might change, one thing now seemed certain: the French meant to avenge their defeats by Marlborough and they would attack English possessions wherever they could.
If England intervened in the War of the Austrian Succession where Frederick the Great of Prussia was locked in combat with half Europe, it was only to weaken the French. If ships were sent to the West Indies, it was to protect her trade against the French; soldiers in America and in India were there to save her possessions and trade rights – always from the French. This was the single-minded strategy of that great man, loathed by the king but loved by the English people, William Pitt.
It was generally understood in 1753 that the French were about to attack English interests overseas again and that, whether he liked it or not, the king would have to call upon Pitt to direct the war.
This was the prospect that made young Adam Shockley’s eyes shine and his heart beat with excitement. Recently, the great Thomas Arne had composed two stirring anthems, Rule Britannia and God Save the King. He hummed them to himself continually.
And now he had begged his father:
“Get me a commission in a regiment that is going to India.”
“Which means I shall lose him,” Adam’s mother murmured sadly.
She had thought she might lose her only child the year before, when there was a brief outbreak of the dreaded smallpox in the town. On Jonathan’s suggestion, the whole family had taken the new vaccine of Dr Jenner, despite the warnings of all their friends. “Better to have the disease in the natural way,” Forest had told him. This departure from his normal conservatism had been successful: none of them had caught the disease. But there was no vaccine against the unhealthy climate of India; few of the young men who ventured out there in that century to earn their livings, let alone who went to fight, were ever seen by their families again.
Jonathan was looking at his son thoughtfully. It was so obvious that the fair, broad-faced young fellow had set his heart on the matter. He also realised that he had no idea what a difficult thing he had asked. Should he explain? Should he disappoint the boy? What else, in any case, would young Adam do?
“If you must go to India,” he suggested, “let me try to get you into John Company, where you might make your fortune. Forest has connections there and would help you.” The East India Company, affectionately known as John Company, concerned itself nowadays with administering the British trading colony in India; but it held out many opportunities for shrewd young men who wanted to make their fortune.
But Adam could think only of his uniform.
“Please father,” he begged again, “buy me a commission.”
“You know the expense of a commission is considerable,” Jonathan reminded him.
He saw the boy’s face fall. At the same time, he felt his wife’s hand squeeze his shoulder. He glanced up at her. Their eyes met.
“Very well,” he sighed. “We shall see what can be done.”
It was the next day that Adam was taken by his father to Avonsford Manor.
He had often visited the place in his childhood. He loved the handsome house, its pleasant park, and above all, the little church in the hamlet below, where he used to go to admire the stout, square, box pews that contained the worshippers like so many loose boxes. As a child he could hardly see over the edge unless he stood on the wooden bench inside. Then there were the hatchments – the