effects of the gin might serve as a sedative. But while I find your recipe interesting, I prefer to adhere to cures based on sound medical science. I shall administer two ounces tincture of opium and two ounces spirits of turpentine in one pint of warm water. I shall return anon, and you may administer this physic, as well as applying the bran poultice to Bainbridge's gray."
"It will be done as you wish, sir." Devington saluted.
"Gin and ginger," the major mused and walked away.
By the time they docked at Ostend, three horses from the other ships had been lost to colic. Several more had perished by struggling and fighting so violently during the unloading that they had broken legs, dashing them against the hatches, or had breached the canvas sling and dropped into the sea. To Devington's credit, his entire herd was slung to shore with little fuss and no incident.
With all of the horses now unloaded and picketed, the troopers of the Household Cavalry spent three more days in Ostend, awaiting the ships conveying the supply wagons that would carry the forage and the accoutrements necessary for their march.
On the morning of the fourth day, the reveille trumpet was muffled by the soggy gray dawn. The day of decampment had arrived in the midst of heavy April rains. Waking cold and damp from his bed of straw above the tavern stables, Devington pushed his bedmates aside to pull on his boots and supervise the morning routine of mucking, feeding, watering, and grooming.
Though temporarily exempt from stable duties, Devington still retained charge over the care and feeding of the horses, whose importance superseded even the needs of the men. The valiant men of the King's Horse would be permitted to take their morning rations only after caring for the animals upon whom they depended to carry them.
Devington shortly joined Captain Drake and Major Winthrop, and the trio proceeded through the stables and picket lines of their troop horses, inspecting each one, until meeting the troop's farrier.
"How goes it, Tom?" Winthop asked as the farrier pounded the final nail into the hoof of the last troop horse on the picket line.
"Spent the past two days reseating shoes and painting tar on the soles of all their hooves, Major. 'Tis all can be done to prevent the thrush, though I daresay 'twill be all for naught. Wi' such heavy rains, we'll be marching for at least a for'night in the mud. Inevitably, a number of 'em will be footsore and oozing black pus afore we see Ghent."
"The tar should make a difference, as long as it's applied regularly," Devington remarked.
"Should it be reapplied twice or thrice per se'nnight, Tom?" Major Winthrop asked.
"Thrice… if'n the supply holds that long," he remarked dubiously. "Elsewise, the troop horses be ready to march, sirs." He then amended hastily, "Leastwise, all save one. Unmanageable brute he be. Look at this." The farrier lifted his smock and lowered his breeches to expose the deep purple tooth marks that marred his broad, bared buttocks.
"I might well hazard a guess which one it was." The Captain regarded Devington knowingly.
Six
A BITTER RIVALRY
A f ter having seen to the men and horses, Devington washed down the last bite of dry black bread with a gulp of bitter coffee. Throwing the tin muck in his haversack, he slung it over his shoulder.
He then secured his accoutrements to his saddle, placed his new pistols in their case in front of his pommel, taking special care to protect his pouch of gunpowder from the damp. After making a last adjustment to his saddle girth, Devington straightened his sword and took up his carbine, whose butt would rest in the bucket on the right side of his saddle with his picket pole strapped securely alongside. Once he made his final checks, the corporal mounted—a clumsy business at best—while balancing two weapons and a fourfoot picket pole.
When the trump sounded for parade inspection,
"It will be done as you wish, sir." Devington saluted.
"Gin and ginger," the major mused and walked away.
By the time they docked at Ostend, three horses from the other ships had been lost to colic. Several more had perished by struggling and fighting so violently during the unloading that they had broken legs, dashing them against the hatches, or had breached the canvas sling and dropped into the sea. To Devington's credit, his entire herd was slung to shore with little fuss and no incident.
With all of the horses now unloaded and picketed, the troopers of the Household Cavalry spent three more days in Ostend, awaiting the ships conveying the supply wagons that would carry the forage and the accoutrements necessary for their march.
On the morning of the fourth day, the reveille trumpet was muffled by the soggy gray dawn. The day of decampment had arrived in the midst of heavy April rains. Waking cold and damp from his bed of straw above the tavern stables, Devington pushed his bedmates aside to pull on his boots and supervise the morning routine of mucking, feeding, watering, and grooming.
Though temporarily exempt from stable duties, Devington still retained charge over the care and feeding of the horses, whose importance superseded even the needs of the men. The valiant men of the King's Horse would be permitted to take their morning rations only after caring for the animals upon whom they depended to carry them.
Devington shortly joined Captain Drake and Major Winthrop, and the trio proceeded through the stables and picket lines of their troop horses, inspecting each one, until meeting the troop's farrier.
"How goes it, Tom?" Winthop asked as the farrier pounded the final nail into the hoof of the last troop horse on the picket line.
"Spent the past two days reseating shoes and painting tar on the soles of all their hooves, Major. 'Tis all can be done to prevent the thrush, though I daresay 'twill be all for naught. Wi' such heavy rains, we'll be marching for at least a for'night in the mud. Inevitably, a number of 'em will be footsore and oozing black pus afore we see Ghent."
"The tar should make a difference, as long as it's applied regularly," Devington remarked.
"Should it be reapplied twice or thrice per se'nnight, Tom?" Major Winthrop asked.
"Thrice… if'n the supply holds that long," he remarked dubiously. "Elsewise, the troop horses be ready to march, sirs." He then amended hastily, "Leastwise, all save one. Unmanageable brute he be. Look at this." The farrier lifted his smock and lowered his breeches to expose the deep purple tooth marks that marred his broad, bared buttocks.
"I might well hazard a guess which one it was." The Captain regarded Devington knowingly.
Six
A BITTER RIVALRY
A f ter having seen to the men and horses, Devington washed down the last bite of dry black bread with a gulp of bitter coffee. Throwing the tin muck in his haversack, he slung it over his shoulder.
He then secured his accoutrements to his saddle, placed his new pistols in their case in front of his pommel, taking special care to protect his pouch of gunpowder from the damp. After making a last adjustment to his saddle girth, Devington straightened his sword and took up his carbine, whose butt would rest in the bucket on the right side of his saddle with his picket pole strapped securely alongside. Once he made his final checks, the corporal mounted—a clumsy business at best—while balancing two weapons and a fourfoot picket pole.
When the trump sounded for parade inspection,
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