English Jim & the Baltimore Rose

Peter Argonis

English Jim
&
The Baltimore Rose
 
Peter Argonis
 
 
© 2010, 2012,
3rd Edition, ©2025
All Rights to the Story Reserved by the Author
 
 
Book 1 — His Lucky Charm
Going Private
Baltimore Rose
English Jim
Raven Feather
The Sluice Box
Samantha
Bonanza
Civilization
Making a Home
Respectable Woman
Parenthood
An Unpleasant Encounter
Death of a Friend
A Well-mannered Savage
True Friends
Righting a Wrong
Book 2 — Roots and Revelations
The Old Country
Outmatched
Misadventure
Settling Down
A Connection
Charity and Jealousy
Life and Death
The Last of the Bunions
Surprises
Priorities
Old Friends
A Friend in Distress
Detective
The Old Bailey
Forgiving Nature
Somebody Deserving
Third Time's the Charm
 
 

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Book 1 — His Lucky Charm

1. Going Private
October 25, 1854, Crimea, Russian Empire
Captain James Weston Tremayne reined in his horse and his look swept over the men of E troop. Nothing to complain about, he decided. The men were as ready to fight as he could wish. Spurring his horse, he closed to his escadron leader, Major Pryce, who was scanning the enemy lines with his brass telescope.
"Heavy metal, Tremayne! That's 24-pounders, no cover and almost two miles of open field. What in hell is Lucan thinking?"
"It'll look good in the papers, Sir," Jim Tremayne replied cynically.
Pryce was a Berkshire man like Jim, practically a neighbour, and they spoke openly most of the time. This was a sore point with the junior officers. The presence of news writers was one of the new things about this war on the Crimean Peninsula. They wrote about what they perceived as the heroism of British soldiery, each of them trying to surpass his fellow writers with their gruesome depictions of the battles they witnessed.
The unwanted side effect of this was that some commanding officers ordered reckless actions, for the sole purpose of seeing their names in the newspaper reports. It was just like the Earl of Cardigan to order another reckless charge against a fortified artillery position.
"Return to your men, Jim! We'll get the signal any moment," Pryce said through his teeth.
Jim Tremayne wheeled his horse and had it trot back to E Troop. For a moment, his hand clutched the medallion that hung around his neck. It contained a miniature of his fiancée, Priscilla Bywater. If he came out of this campaign alive, he would bid for a major's commission, allowing him to finally marry her. Major Penniworth was due to retire, in fact he had stayed with the regimental depot troops at headquarters when the 13th Light Dragoons were shipped to the Crimea. Jim Tremayne was the second son of a Berkshire landowner. Without the higher rank, he could not hope to maintain a wife such as Priscilla in the style she could expect.
He ordered readiness, and his men formed two credible lines. E troop was down from 63 to 54 dragoons, but still a good fighting unit. A cornet signalled from the centre of their Brigade and Colonel Payden could be heard.
"The 13th will advance!"
With Jim in the lead, flanked by Cornet Chamberlayne and Lance Sergeant Malone, the troop broke into a trot, advancing on the Russian lines. The Russian heavy guns were firing canister at them, and they had not proceeded for more than a few hundred yards when they came under heavy fire. Men and horses started to drop left and right, Jim could see.
A new cornet signal sounded. Lord Cardigan, in the lead, changed into a canter, and the Brigade followed suit. Jim saw the 17th Lancers to their left, their lances still held upright, like the knights in a Walter Scott novel.
They were only two hundred yards away from the Russian artillery position when Cardigan's cornet blew the charge. Cornet Chamberlayne rose in his stirrups whilst he repeated the charge signal for the troop. Decimated they were, but they charged the Russian lines like a tidal wave. Sword in hand, the dragoons wreaked havoc amongst the hapless artillery soldiers, silencing the big guns for lack of handlers.
Cardigan wanted more, though. A new signal sounded, and they were off against a Russian lancer regiment. Dragoons always had a hard time against lancers, but the 13th were in fighting spirit. Jim parried and hacked with his sword, more than once avoiding lance points by the breadth of a hair. Whenever he had a chance, he tried to rally his men, and each time, there were fewer of them to heed the cornet signal.
To his left, he heard screams. Turning, he saw Major Pryce, a lance point protruding from his chest. Jim Tremayne could read the dying man's lips. "Siobhan!" he cried.
Jim Tremayne nearly fainted — he knew Siobhan Pryce, had even witnessed their wedding. Then his weakness turned into fighting rage.
"Charge!" he screamed. "Charge!"
Like a man possessed, he stabbed and hacked at the hapless lancer who had killed Pryce. His lance point still stuck in Pryce's chest, the lancer was defenceless, and he fell from multiple wounds. Pryce was barely living, and with his blood-smeared hand, he pressed his sword into Jim's hand.
"Give... Siobhan... Tell her... Love…" were his last words, and he fell from his saddle, already dead. Jim stuck the sword into his saddle-mounted sheath and turned. In the senseless fury of the fighting, he had completely missed the retreat signal, but Lance Sergeant Malone rode up to him and yelled into his ear.
"Signal to retreat, Sir! The 17th are already turning!"
Malone was covered in blood, from head to toe, and Jim realised that he must look the same.
"Cornet! Sound the retreat!" Jim yelled at Chamberlayne.
They had to fight their way through the Russian infantry who were closing in from the sides, but it seemed as if they could make it. Their numbers were frightfully down, but there was an open stretch on the right flank.
Raising in his stirrups, Jim half turned and yelled at his remaining men.
"To the right, to the right! Go for it, you men!"
The musket balls hit him like blows from a sledge hammer. He swooned for a few moments and almost fell off his horse, had it not been for Lance Sergeant Malone. Malone had his horse shot from under him, but he was at Jim's side in a heart beat, seating behind Jim and holding him upright. The pain and the blood loss soon made him pass out, and his last conscious thought was of Priscilla Bywater, his fiancée, wondering if he'd ever see her again.
—————
When Jim Tremayne woke, he was sure to have landed in hell. Cries of agony sounded around him, and his own body was on fire with pain. He moved his head and tried to see in the weak light of what he recognised as lazaretto. The cries came from a table where a surgeon was sawing away at a human leg whilst five burly men held down the struggling, screaming victim of his efforts.
Jim looked down at his own body. With relief he noted that all his limbs were still attached, but his chest and midsection burned like hell fire. He remembered. He had been gut shot. Not a good thing, he realised.
Suddenly, he hallucinated. He saw a woman bend over his cot, and her sweet voice came straight from heaven.
"Are you awake, Captain? Doctor Donovan will look at you presently."
"Where am I?" Jim croaked.
"In Scutari, in the infirmary. I am Nurse Thurmond, Captain."
She left Jim in a daze. How had he come to Scutari, close to Constantinople? And why was a nurse in presence? Nurses tended infants, right? A few moments later, a surgeon wearing a long, surprisingly clean shirt, showed at his side.
"I am Mister Donovan, RCS, Captain. I have treated you since you arrived here, three days ago. You were shot. Do you remember that?"
"Yes, Doctor, I do," Jim said unsteadily. "That was in the Crimea, though. How did I get here?"
“Just ‘Mister’, please! You arrived by steamship, Captain. All the severely wounded were evacuated. I had to extract a musket ball from your abdomen. It had not penetrated far; it must have been deflected by your saddle horn. It seems that no internal organs were damaged too badly. Another shot went through your chest, far to the right, without hurting the lungs. Your ribs will take a while to mend, I suppose."
Jim nodded. This would explain the pain when he talked and breathed.
"Since you're improving, I shall see to it that you will get on the first transport to England."
"But… my regiment?"
“The 13th, right? They will have to make do without you. It'll likely be three or four months before you can ride a horse again. Lie back, and let your body heal, Captain. That's all you can do."
Jim Tremayne had to follow the surgeon's advice as there was nothing else he could do. After spending another two weeks in the infirmary, tended by the nurses led by the 'Lady with the Lamp', Florence Nightingale, he recovered sufficiently to be carried by stretcher on board a steam ship headed for England. There were over two-hundred wounded and disabled men on board, and many of them were far worse off than Jim.
Wonders over wonders, somebody had saved his sword, as well as Major Pryce's, but the rest of his possessions were still at the regimental camp, near Sevastopol. A grey wool coat of unclear provenance had been given to him, along with a coarse shirt and shapeless trousers. He still had his uniform coat, torn but cleaned, but that was all. Once on board the steamer Andes, he received some more clothing items, a shaving kit, and more shirts. His cabin, located far aft, was infernally loud from the ship's screw shafts, and he could barely find sleep.
Those of the returning officers and men who could walk, and Jim soon recovered enough to walk short distances, would sit on the sunlit deck as the ship ploughed through the quiet waters of the Mediterranean Sea. Past the Strait of Gibraltar, there was no sun, just clouds and rough sea. Still, Jim Tremayne spent the days on deck, staring ahead.
His mind was in turmoil. He was being sent home as an invalid, and this would seriously affect any chances of promotion. He and Priscilla had been engaged for two years already, and he yearned to be married to the tall blonde girl. However, without holding a major’s commission, there was no way her father would consent to a wedding.
A letter had been sent ahead to his family on his behalf, and when the ship made fast in Portsmouth, Jim Tremayne could see his brother Edward in the mass of waiting people on the quay. They had never been close to each other. Edward was five years Jim's senior, after all. However, when Jim limped over the gangway onto the quay, Edward rushed forward to hug his younger brother, and his cracking voice conveyed his emotions.
"You're back, Jim! You are really back! You scared us terribly. It's so good to see you!"
Embarrassed, Jim mumbled a few words. When Edward spoke next, there was sympathy in his voice.
"I'm so sorry about Priscilla!"
Jim felt the blood drain from his face. Had something happened to his fiancée? Edward noted his expression and paled himself.
"Didn't you receive her letter?"
Her letter? That meant she must be alive. Why was Edward sorry?
"What letter? I was laid up in an infirmary in Constantinople. My mail probably went to the regiment, back in the Crimea."
"She... Damn, this is no news for me to break! Anyway, Priscilla broke your engagement in favour of Lucius Marsden-Smith."
Jim stared at his brother. This could not be! His last thoughts before he thought he'd die had been of Priscilla. Her image before his eyes had sustained him through the months of hardship and danger. In favour of Marsden-Smith? A dam burst inside James Tremayne, and anger washed over him.
Lucius Marsden-Smith was a fellow-officer in the 13th, a captain like Jim, but not his friend. Still, how could he woo Priscilla when Jim was deployed to the Crimea whilst Lucius stayed back at the regimental headquarters with the depot troops? And how could Priscilla do this to him?
"You know his father, Jim. He bought Penniworth’s commission for Lucius. Not two weeks later, Pricilla informed us that she had broken the engagement. Father was so angry, we feared for his health."
Jim became pale. Instinctively, he reached for his sword hilt. Marsden-Smith's behaviour was a violation of the regimental code of conduct, a code by which they all abided. Edward's hand touched his arm.
"You have to recuperate first before you can challenge him. I swear, I'll be at your side. That man has to be taught manners. You'll have to be careful though. He's your superior in rank now; you cannot just challenge him."
Edward's words sunk in. Marsden-Smith held a major's commission. To challenge him would be grounds for a court-martial. Yet, to serve under him, in the 13th Light Dragoons, would be unbearable. It would be unbearable anyway, once his comrades returned, since they all knew of his engagement to Priscilla. In a moment, his decision was made. He had no future in the regiment. The one opening was now taken by an officer who had stayed at home, effectively nullifying Jim's chances for promotion. Major Pryce had fallen at Balaclava, but that rank would be filled by now, by one of the captains who were still serving in the Crimea.
"Father wants to purchase a commission in another regiment for you," Edward offered.
That was something to think about, Jim allowed. Yet, the story how Marsden-Smith had stolen his fiancée would make the rounds, making Jim the butt of jokes and innuendos for life. Jim slowly shook his head.
"Let us go home, Edward. I don't know what to do right now."
"Certainly. Come this way and let Jameson take your dunnage."
Jameson was the coach driver of their family who saluted Jim stiffly before he took his valise.
The coach ride to Berkshire took two days, and it taxed Jim's strength to the breaking point. Although the road was in decent shape, the movements of the coach caused him great pain, and he looked pale and drawn when he alighted from the coach at his father's house. Robert Tremayne took one look at his son before he rushed forward to welcome him. Jim could not see his father's face as he hugged him, but his voice conveyed the anguish the older man felt.
"'Tis no way for a brave soldier to return to home! That girl should be standing here now, to give you welcome, to weep over your wounds and suffering. By God, if there is justice, her life will be miserable!"
His mother was more composed, more rational.
“Perhaps she was wrong for you, James, too vain and selfish. I know how you adored her, but think how bad it would have been to be married to an unfaithful woman. Best be rid of her now!"
That was an entirely new perspective, Jim had to concede. He was not sure whether he could subscribe to his mother's views, but they were worth consideration. After all, Priscilla had been keenly aware of her good looks and took pride in the admiration she received.
Over the next weeks, whilst his body recuperated and his wounds healed, Jim managed to convince himself that he was indeed better off without Priscilla, without any woman in fact. Women were false, traitorous beings, unable to return the love men invested in them. In his disappointment, he attributed Priscilla's character flaws to every woman, and several neighbours' daughters, invited by his mother to lighten his mood, found him a brooding and cold man, unwilling to enter into conversation and downright hostile to their modest advances.
Once his wounds had healed, he took up fencing in his father's barn. Edward and sometimes their neighbour, Mister Wilson, practised with him. The exercise caused him much pain at first, but he continued with dogged determination.
He sought the solitude of the fields and wooded lands, too, walking hours by himself and finding solace in the beauty of the winter landscape. In his lonesome walks, he also pondered his future. First however, he had to pay a visit, one he dreaded.
Siobhan Pryce, he had learned, was living with her parents again, and thus Jim had to take his father's coach to Woodbridge Manor, the seat of Lord Lambert. Lord Lambert was in London, but Lady Lambert received him, wearing black.
"Milady, I came to call on your daughter, Missus Pryce. I was with Major Pryce in his last moments, and I brought home his sword and his last greetings."
"That is very kind of you, Captain. With all the heart ache you must suffer, you still came? I shall call Siobhan."
The deep sadness of Siobhan Pryce cut through Jim's heart when she entered the tea room where he waited.
"James, Mother says you were with Reginald when..." she had to stop, her voice failing.
"Yes. I was close by. His..." Now Jim's own voice faltered. He cleared his throat and shook his head to master the powerful emotions. "His last thoughts and words were of you, and he charged me to bring home his sword and his love, as his last greeting. I'm sorry that I could not do more."
He laid the sword on the table. He had spent hours on board the Andes cleaning it, and there was no blood left on either hilt or blade.
Siobhan put her hand on his arm.
"I heard that you were wounded?"
"Yes, two musket balls, but I'm healing," he responded.
"And then you returned and had to hear about Cilla."
It was not a question, just a statement, full of disgust, even hatred. Jim was surprised. Siobhan and Priscilla had been close friends since their girlhood. He nodded, still unable to speak about the topic.
"Rest assured that this will not be forgotten!" Siobhan hissed, her mourning making way for burning anger. "That cowardly man will rue the day he proposed to her! They even had the gall to show at Reginald's memorial service!"
Jim took a deep breath.
"Yes, she showed at my parents' house after... when the news of Balaclava broke. I just hope to never see her again!"
"Will you let this outrage stand, then?"
Now, a grim smile showed on Jim's features.
“Hardly! I have a few things to settle first, but Lucius Marsden-Smith will hear my opinion of him."
"You are a good man, James. I shall pray for you and I wish you the happiness you deserve."
"I heard you gave birth to a son, Siobhan?"
"Yes, he is my sole consolation. He'll never be a soldier if I have a say."
Jim nodded. He could understand. He told her a few more thing, details that never found their way back to England, and he answered her questions. He was emotionally drained when he left her to return to Hamden Gardens, but in the hallway, he found himself face to face with Siobhan's grandfather, Sir Anthony Carter GCB, Admiral of Red. Sir Anthony was a legend, a hero of the Great War, and Jim had never seen him from up close. He was in his mid-seventies, Jim knew, a tall man with lively blue eyes that belied his age and his white hair.
"You're Robert Tremayne's boy, aren't you?"
"Yes, Sir Anthony. I came to bring Major Pryce' sword to his widow, Sir. I was at his side when he died."
"He was a fine fellow. Lucan's tomfooleries cost us the flower of our young men." He shook his head in disgust. "If only the Duke had been alive and in command, but that's idle thinking. Are you at least recovering from your wounds?"
"Yes, Sir Anthony, I'm almost as good as new."
"I heard of your fiancée, we all did. A shame that and an infamy on the part of Marsden-Smith. Will you do something about it?"
Jim took a deep breath under the watching blue eyes of the old admiral.
"Yes, Sir Anthony. Once I am recovered fully, he shall hear my opinion. I expect that this will be followed by another rendezvous."
"Quite so, young Mister Tremayne. If you need seconds, call upon me. I am somewhat knowledgeable in such affairs."
Jim swallowed. He had a brief vision of the old admiral in the full splendour of his uniform, standing in as "friend" for a small captain of the dragoons.
"I would consider it an honour and a boost for my confidence, Sir Anthony."
"Well then, be prepared, Captain. I shall hold myself in readiness, too.”
—————
It was late January when he asked his father for the coach to travel to the regimental quarters, claiming it his duty to report back as recovered from his wounds. He was received by the Lieutenant Colonel in charge of the depot troops. The man eyed him with a mix of sympathy and bad conscience.
"It's good to see you healed up, Tremayne," he said. "There's not much to do here. Why don't you go home to your father's house? I can send word to you when we’ll need you again."
Jim was sympathetic to the Lieutenant Colonel's wish to preserve the peace, but he had made up his mind.
"Sir, I came to resign my commission. I find it impossible to serve under an officer who grossly violated the regimental honour code by pursuing a comrade-in-arm's affianced bride."
Lieutenant Colonel Caldwell looked embarrassed and even guilty.
"This is quite a drastic step, don't you think, Captain?"
"Perhaps, Sir. It is my decision nonetheless."
"Very well, then. Do you have a buyer for your commission?"
"No, Sir. I would ask you to find an adequate officer."
"My nephew has been lieutenant for three years. I shall buy your commission for him. Will the usual £3,500 be adequate?"
"Yes, Sir. That sounds like a handy solution. Please have that money returned to my father."
"Quite. Well, what about a decent farewell for a veteran officer? I have only twenty men here, but they could give you a farewell salute?"
"Thank you, Sir, but you had better not. Since Major Marsden-Smith would be part of that ceremony, it might prove awkward."
The Lieutenant-Colonel blushed again.
"Well, Mister Tremayne, then I can only wish you good luck with your future endeavours."
Nodding silently, Jim turned on his heel and left. For seven years, it had been his ambition be a part and to rise in the ranks of his regiment. Now he had nothing to live for, nothing but revenge. From the Caldwell's office, he strode across the courtyard and to the mess hall. True enough, there was Marsden-Smith, sitting with two Lieutenants and talking big as usual. He saw Jim and stood quickly, looking at his rival with a mixture of triumph and fear.
"Well, Captain?" he asked.
Jim had practised his words for a few days. They came out just as he had planned.
"Major, I have the honour to inform you that you are a scoundrel and unworthy of being a Queen's officer."
The two subaltern officers looked at Jim with their mouths agape, but Marsden-Smith grinned maliciously.
"I'll see you court-martialled for this, Tremayne. You have just insulted a superior officer."
Jim gave him a cold smile.
“You were never superior to anybody! Also, you are a little behind the events, Marsden-Smith. I resigned my commission. Consequently, you are not my senior officer. I'm afraid that, much as you dislike putting yourself in harm's way, you will have to settle the matter in person. Can I expect a friend, or do you accept my assessment of your character?"
Marsden-Smith showed a mixture of emotions, fear and glee chief amongst them.
"Very well, then. I shall send a friend."
"I'm at my father's place, but Admiral Sir Anthony Carter will act for me. Good day, gentlemen," he added for the benefit of the two lieutenants.
—————
True to his word, Marsden-Smith sent his friends the very next day. Jim and Edward were later summoned to High Matcham, the seat of Sir Anthony Carter. The old admiral had a grim smile on his lips.
"Marsden-Smith's side accepted the sabre as your choice of a weapon."
“Thank you, Sir Anthony. I hope that you did not advertise the fact that I practiced fencing regularly for weeks?"
"Of course not. Do you aim to kill him?"
Jim had thought about that, and he shrugged. Perhaps, he would kill Marsden-Smith, perhaps he would not. An idea was germinating in his head which had its merits, as it might allow him a dual revenge.
Later that day, after returning to Hamden Gardens, Jim was alerted by a commotion in the entrance hall. Curiously, he went downstairs to investigate. He came to a stop, halfway down the stairs, for in the hall stood Priscilla Bywater, his erstwhile fiancée. His father faced her, ordering her to leave, and she refused, demanding to see Jim.
She spotted him on the stairs and, dodging his father, ran to meet him.
"Let it be, father, please," Jim said quietly. He walked down the last steps and faced Priscilla, his eyes conveying nothing but cold disdain.
"Well, Miss Bywater?"
"I heard that you challenged Lucius?" she started hesitantly.
“You heard wrongly. Marsden-Smith challenged me. What of it?"
"This will not change anything between us. You know that, don't you?"
She sounded saddened. To his surprise, Jim managed a genuine laugh.
"You thought that I aim to win you back? Whatever would I do with an unfaithful trollop?" Priscilla staggered back under the insult, her cheeks blushing a deep red. "What would I do with a woman who cannot stay true for even a few months? You did me a favour. Better now than to have you cheat on me after our marriage.
"If you need to know, your fiancé has violated our regimental code of conduct by poaching on a comrade-in-arm's bride. That breach of our code is my sole reason. Personally, Miss Bywater, you have become irrelevant to me. Please leave now! I may be indifferent to your presence, but my father is dying to take a riding crop to your back."
"I thought better of you, James Tremayne," Priscilla retorted, deeply hurt, her anger rising. "I never thought you'd be a sore loser. You cannot stand it that I left you for a better man!"
"A better man?" Jim taunted her. "And here I thought you were promised to Lucius! You are preparing to cheat on him, too?"
She actually stamped her foot in anger and she gave her famous temper free rein.
"You will understand if I shall abstain from attending your funeral," she spat.
In his present mood, Jim would not leave her the last word.
"That would not be your decision anyway. I cannot see my father allowing a common hussy at his son's funeral."
He watched as her face once again lost its colour. Priscilla stood undecided for a few heart beats, but then tears shot into her eyes, and she stormed out of the house without another word. Edward emerged from the tea room, a young woman at his heels.
"Well, Brother, you certainly kept the upper hand."
He motioned to his left, and Jim noticed the woman at Edward's side. He could not place her.
"Penny, this is my brother James. Jim, this is Penelope Prendergast, my … good friend and soon hopefully more."
Penelope was a pretty girl, not beautiful like Priscilla, but with an endearing, open smile.
"It is a real pleasure to meet you, Captain Tremayne," she said earnestly. "Ed has told me so much of you. I hope that we can become good friends."
Something about her words and friendly smile touched a chord in Jim, in spite of the calluses he had build around his heart. He gave her a halfway friendly smile in return.
"I certainly hope we can, Miss Prendergast. I regret that you had to witness this spectacle. Unfortunately, my former fiancée has a penchant for dramatic scenes."
"And a woeful lack of wit!" Penelope laughed. "You certainly kept up your side in the exchange, Captain. I am confident that a fine gentleman like you will find a woman more deserving of your attention. If I had a sister … well, alas, I have not, so let us drop this. I wish you good luck in your trials, Captain."
Edward was a lucky man to have found this girl, Jim thought whilst he finished his will that evening and sorted his documents. Penelope was the daughter of a retired Navy captain who had become their neighbour a year ago. She had gone to school until recently and had only come to live with her father, a widower, a few weeks ago. Jim hoped that they would be happy. Personally, he could not see himself as ever trusting a woman again.
—————
It was a poorly chosen place for a sword duel, but again, Marsden-Smith’s seconds had insisted on a location close to his father's house. The winter sun was just rising over the naked trees, lighting a small clearing, covered by loose sand. It was surrounded by dead wood, broken branches, and tree trunks.
Jim was beginning to get cold, but he could not wear a coat, let alone a great coat when fighting for his life. Marsden-Smith was shivering, too, he noticed.
"It's damned cold, let us start," Edward said.
The opponents faced off against each other and Admiral Carter spoke up.
"I shall remind you gentlemen of the rules we agreed upon. My principal was challenged and has chosen the sabre as weapon, and no other weapon will be permitted. The fight is restricted to this sandy patch. Leaving the sandy ground is not permitted. The fight will continue until one party is incapacitated by his wounds. Are those rules understood by both parties?"
Jim nodded; Marsden-Smith, too.
"Very well, then. Gentlemen, en garde!"
They crossed their sabres. Jim was briefly distracted when Sir Anthony lifted the blade of a magnificent old Toledo sword. It came down hard on the crossed blades, and the duel was on.
Fighting with a dragoon's sabre requires physical strength as well as dexterity. Marsden-Smith had bulk enough to look strong, but with the regiment away, he had led an easy life, leaving most of the tasks to his sergeant. Furthermore, he expected Jim Tremayne to be weak of limbs, after months of convalescence. Thus, he was woefully unprepared for the onslaught Jim unleashed.
From the start, Marsden-Smith was forced into the defensive, desperately trying to fend off the hailstorm of blows, coming from all quarters, and panic set in on him. More and more, he retreated under Jim's attacks, each step backwards bringing him closer to the fringe of the clearing. When his left foot tangled in a root, the seconds interfered for the first time.
"I must remind you, Major, to stay within the permitted area," Sir Anthony admonished him coldly. "Cross your blades, Gentlemen! Go!"
Again, Jim Tremayne's relentless attacks began. Marsden-Smith had been able to catch his breath during the short interruption, but that helped him only briefly, for Jim, too, had been able to rest for a few precious seconds. Time and again, the heavy sabre crashed into Marsden-Smith's guard, with shattering, numbing force, and in the end, forced him to retreat again. This time, whilst stumbling back, his foot stepped on a mossy tree stump, slipping sideways and spraining the ankle. Pain lanced through the joint, and he sunk to his knees, moaning.
Immediately, Jim checked his attacks and stood still, panting heavily. The seconds stepped forward. One of Marsden-Smith's seconds prodded the ankle here and there, each time eliciting a cry of pain. It was clear that the Major was unable to continue.
The seconds conferred with grave faces for over ten minutes before they apparently reached an agreement. With a face of stone, Sir Anthony announced their conclusion.
"We have agreed that you, Major, have violated the terms of this duel twice, by stepping out of the designated area. Therefore, you have not sufficiently refuted Captain Tremayne's accusations. Since the affair is unresolved, there will be need for a second rendezvous once you have recovered, unless you and Captain Tremayne can reach a peaceable settlement."
The other seconds nodded gravely. In effect, Lucius Marsden-Smith's honour was in limbo until a second duel would resolve the matter. It was a highly embarrassing situation for Marsden-Smith, and if continued, it would ruin his reputation. This was even better than Jim had anticipated. His rival would never be able to live down the loss of face!
Edward Tremayne stepped up to Jim and wrapped a wool greatcoat around him, to protect his overheated body against the cold. Then he steered him towards their coach. They ignored Marsden-Smith as dictated by etiquette, and it was not until they sat in the coach that Edward spoke.
"By Jove! You ruined the man, Jim! He will never be able to show his face again!"
Sir Anthony chuckled with grim satisfaction.
"That sprained ankle was a lifesaver for the fellow. That was some fair sabre fencing you showed, Tremayne. How are your wounds?"
"Hurting a little, Sir, but the overall feeling is too good," Jim grinned.
"Well then, you upheld your family's honour. It is a pleasure to serve you."
"Thank you, Sir Anthony. You are being too kind."
"I shall leave you and your brother now. I have been charged to inform my granddaughter of the outcome. We'll have the next rendezvous in a more adequate location where he can't run away again."
When Sir Anthony had climbed into his coach, Jim turned sober. "Ed, I have arranged for my future. With the back pay I collected, I shall leave England. I'll take passage to Boston in ten days. I don't know yet what I'll do, but I need to get away from England for a spell."
Edward was shocked. "Jim, you are not serious, are you?" he asked. "Think of Father and Mother!"
"If Malone hadn't dragged me back to our lines, I wouldn't be here anyway. I can't stay. After today, the elder Marsden-Smith will be my mortal enemy. I have heard good things about America, too. You can get land for free in the western territories. There are wide plains and deep forests. A man can live there and be at peace."
"That's a rather drastic step, Jim. I beg you to reconsider. Damn, I'll split the lands with you if you stay."
Jim shook his head. "You know that I could never accept that. You need more than the lands we have to marry Penelope. She is a good girl, and I'll never stand in your way. As a matter of fact, I want you to take the proceeds from the sale of my commission and buy more lands. At least one of us should be happy and prosperous, and I can't see myself as ever trusting a woman again."
"What if Priscilla reconsiders? After today, she cannot believe that Lucius is a fitting husband."
Jim smiled evilly. "I want her to marry him, Ed. I want her to be married to a disgraced man. That will be my revenge on her. She's engaged to him. If she breaks another engagement, she'll never find another suitor, not with Lucius's father as her enemy."
Edward whistled softly. "If you leave, Lucius will never be able to clear his name. He'll have to resign. You have to offer him another chance, though. He'll claim you evaded him, if not."
Jim nodded. "Offer him another rendezvous a week hence. Tell him I'll leave the country after that. It's his only chance."
—————
Marsden-Smith claimed his sprained ankle disabled him. When Sir Anthony warned that Jim would be unavailable at a later date, the Major still did not see fit to accept a renewal of the duel a week later. His own seconds then relinquished their office in protest. Together with Sir Anthony Carter, they reported Marsden-Smith's refusal to the regimental quarters, and Lieutenant-Colonel Caldwell saw no other choice than to suspend Major Marsden-Smith's commission.
This brought old Marsden-Smith into action. He visited the Tremaynes to find a way out of the impasse, but he was too late. James Tremayne was gone. No blame attached to him, as he had forewarned his adversary of his impending departure, as witnessed by all four seconds.
When the 13th Light Dragoons returned from the Crimea, the situation became untenable for the Marsden-Smiths. Colonel Payden was livid over the situation he found, and ordered an investigation. Lt.-Col. Caldwell chose to retire, and Marsden-Smith felt the unforgiving stance of his fellow officers. They resented his very presence, the presence of a man who had poached on the bride of a fellow officer. Marsden-Smith was ostracised and shortly after, he was forced to offer his commission for purchase. To heap injury on disgrace, there were no bidders, and Marsden-Smith had to resign with a loss of almost £5,000.
Officially, Marsden-Smith 'went private', but the true story spread rapidly. With his father's help, Marsden-Smith was able to secure a commission with the East India Company, in one of their native regiments. He was even able to maintain major's rank. He left England in a cloud, nevertheless.
Edward Tremayne became engaged to Penelope Prendergast, and they were married in August 1855. No letters or news had come from James Tremayne, and his family learned nothing of his fate or whereabouts for years, in spite of their attempts through the British consulate in Boston. Jim Tremayne had vanished in the vastness of the American continent.

2. Baltimore Rose
Independence, MO, February 1861
"In the case of the People of Jackson County, Missouri, versus the woman known as Baltimore Rose Donegal, she is found guilty by a jury of her peers of whoring and of viciously attacking an upstanding citizen, Landon Bunion of Independence, and she is hereby sentenced to seven years in the Women's Work House of the Great State of Missouri. Her possessions of jewellery, clothes, and other items of value are forfeit to the county and will be sold at auction to cover the expenses of this court and to compensate the victim for his grave injuries."
The gavel banged, and Rose Donegal stared at the Justice unbelievingly. Not two weeks ago, he had taken her upstairs for a night, during one of his weekly visits to the Emerald Isle saloon, and told her what a sweet girl she was.
And now? Not a word of mention of how the 'upstanding citizen' had taken his belt to whip her. Rose had screamed, scratched, and bitten the foul man, and he had lost the sight in his left eye. She was not even given a chance to testify for herself. In fifteen minutes flat, Justice Alberts had buried her alive for seven years.
Rose was under no illusion as to her chances to survive seven years in the hell that was known as the Work House. The women in there had to work for fourteen hours each day, with little food, and wearing sack cloth dresses. Hardly anybody survived ten years in there, and seven years were not much better.
To the jeering of the spectators, the sheriff's deputy pulled her up from the bench by her manacled hands and dragged her out of the courtroom. In her dazed state, she did not notice it at first, but a moment later, she found herself in the chambers of Justice Alberts.
"Leave her here, Deputy!" Alberts ordered.
The deputy grinned lewdly and left.
"My dear Rose, what a mess! This breaks my heart! You know how much I enjoyed you, but I had no choice. Bunion and his family and friends are up in arms. Believe me, I would not last a week in this office had I acquitted you."
Rose stared at the old geezer. "But, seven years! Nobody survives seven years in the Work House!"
"I know! We cannot even risk sending you there, my sweet. Bunion's brother-in-law is the warden. I shudder to think was they might do to you."
Rose was confused. "You just sentenced me, didn't you?"
"Yes, I had to; I told you that. Rose, there is a way out of this for you. A woman sentenced to the work house can gain her freedom when a man pays her fine and takes her for his wife. There is a man in town, John Caplan, who arranges these things. He will leave this afternoon. That’s why I rushed through this trial. He has an opening left to fill. If you agree to marry his client, he can bring you out of Independence before the Bunion clan will know."
"Marry?" Rose asked in panic. “Marry whom?"
"I don't know," the Justice answered. "Caplan goes west to Fort Laramie. That's where you'll find out. His clients are farmers, traders, and prospectors. Anyway, you'll be safe from the Bunions out there."
"Fort Laramie? Isn't that in Oregon?"
"No, not even half way to Oregon. Rose, you have to decide now. It's either Fort Laramie or the Work House. We, the patrons of the Emerald Isle, have collected a few things for you, like warm clothes, a coat, and three gold eagles. We all care about you, Rose."
Slowly, realisation set in for the young woman. She would have to leave civilisation to save her life. She had an idea then. Whoever she was to marry, she would have an easy time to fool the backwoods simpleton. A girl with her face and body would not have to stay long with a fur trader. She looked up at the Justice.
"I accept. When will I have to leave?"
"Mister Caplan is ready to collect you. He’s waiting outside.”
Rose realised that once again she would be uprooted. She was twenty-two years old, and since her fifteenth year she had been used by men. The last years in Independence had given her more freedom, more sense of being herself. That would be over. She would be married to some uncouth lout who was unable to woo a decent woman. Yet, there was no way out. She nodded.
"All right. Tell that man, no manacles. And if he touches me, I'll scratch his eyes out, just like Bunion's."
—————
It was two weeks later, and Rose Donegal wanted to go back to Independence and skin Justice Alberts alive. No fewer than twenty-five women were huddled together in the three covered wagons, and they were miserable, cold, and hungry.
John Caplan was the worst weasel. From what Rose had learned, he charged the men in Fort Laramie one-hundred and twenty dollars to deliver wives for them. He wanted more, though. He wanted the women on his little wagon train to entertain men in the small settlements they passed. With that Rose would have had small problems, but the weasel wanted all the money for himself.
Most of the women on the train had worked as saloon girls or whores at one point in their lives, but to service men without being paid went against their grain. They refused. That was why Caplan starved them. He claimed that they had to work for food. All they received was water, for greedy as he was, Caplan knew they would die without water and deprive him of his $3,000 head money.
He had three men drive the wagons, and another two for protection, and those men were even worse. They saw the women as fair game and refused to hear a 'no' from them. Three days ago, they had cut off Angie Stevens, from Rose's wagon, whilst she was peeing behind a bush. Three of the swine had forced the poor woman so brutally that even Caplan saw fit to intercede, if only to protect his merchandise.
There had been much cussing between the hired men and Caplan, and in the ruckus, Rose had managed to steal a skinning knife from the driver's seat of the wagon. Lucy O'Hara, the acknowledged ring leader of the women, a black-haired giantess, had also busied herself around the driver's seat of a wagon as Rose had seen.
A few whispered words between Rose and Lucy this morning had sufficed. Now Rose was waiting for an opportunity. It came when the wagons were crossing the crest of a little hill. The first wagon with Rose had just cleared it whilst the second carrying Lucy was still struggling uphill.
Rose took a deep breath. It was now or never. She slid from the back of the wagon and made for the woods to the right, ostensibly to take care of her necessities. Before Angie Steven's rape, that had been common practice for the women. From the corner of her eyes, she saw that the two mounted "guards" watched her instead of the wagons. She also saw that Lucy had jumped from the last wagon and made for the trees without being seen. The trap was set.
Rose walked briskly through the underbrush, trying to get closer to where Lucy had entered the woods. For a moment, she was worried that the guards might not dare to follow her, but then she heard the sound of hooves. A little later, she heard the boots of the men, as they rushed after her. A few seconds later they caught up with her, and Rose whirled around to face them.
"That you, Baltimore Rose? All alone, too, aren't ya?" one of them, Clem, leered.
Rose brandished the knife.
"You fellers know why I'm on this train? I messed up a bloke. He’s wearing an eye patch now.”
"Damn, where'd you get that knife?" Clem patted the grip of his gun. "But you know, Rose, we've got guns, an' yore knife won't do you no good."
"Yeah? Too bad you can't shoot, you dolt. Alive, I’m worth twelve gold eagles to Caplan. Shoot me, and you'll find out how much you're worth to him!"
"Stick'em up, fellers!"
Lucy's voice was as strong as the rest of her. Both men turned to look and gaped. Lucy held a wicked, double-barrelled, sawed-off shot gun, and at this close range nobody in the path of its discharge would stay alive.
"Drop your gun belts, real slow-like, fellers," Lucy hissed. “I’ve got a hankerin' to blow you to pieces after what you did to Angie."
Carefully, Rose moved to a flanking position. Twice in her career as a saloon girl she had seen the mess that a sawed-off shot gun could make.
The two men hesitated. When Lucy's finger at the trigger turned white, though, they opened their belt buckles and let their gun belts drop. Rose saw the minute movement as one man's hand went to his back.
"Watch out, Lucy!" she yelled.
Just as the man's hand sped forward, both barrels of the shot gun went off. The thrown knife barely missed Lucy, but a hail storm of shot riddled the men into bloodied rag dolls. The blast of the shot gun momentarily stupefied both women, but Lucy shook it off quickly.
"Quick, Rose! Their guns! We also need to get their horses!"
Rose sprang into action. Quickly, the women searched the men taking what few valuables they possessed. Each of them strapped a gun belt to their hips, and they ran towards where they expected to find the men's horses.
Before they could reach them, they heard Caplan shouting from the trail.
"Clem, Eugene! What the hell happened? Where is the girl? Come out or I'll kill you both!"
The women hid behind trees. Rose held the Navy Colt ready which she had taken from the dead Clem.
With a curse, Caplan dismounted. Still yelling after his guards, he passed the tree line between Lucy and Rose.
"Hands up!" Lucy challenged.
Caplan turned.
"What the…?"
"Hands up!" Lucy repeated.
Caplan stared at the Paterson Colt in the big woman's hand and grinned. "There's an even chance this piece of shit will blow up in your face."
"Maybe, but you'll die anyway if you don't stick 'em up!" Rose warned.
Caplan looked at Rose, and he saw Clem’s Navy Colt which she pointed at him with calm competence. His grin vanished and he raised his hands. Lucy stepped close to him from behind and relieved him of his gun belt.
"Git moving, Caplan," Rose ordered.
They marched the man out from the tree line and towards the horses. Lucy had helped herself to Caplan's fine Remington revolver, and she covered the man whilst Rose awkwardly climbed into the saddle of Clem's horse, a little encumbered by her dress.
With Caplan riding in front of them, they quickly caught up with the last wagon, and whilst Rose covered Caplan, Lucy held the driver at gunpoint. He was quickly disarmed and bound by the women in the wagon. Next, Caplan was tied with leather thongs, and Amanda Carlisle who claimed she knew how to ride and shoot, helped herself to Caplan's horse and to the weapons of the driver. They left the Paterson Colt and the driver's shotgun with the women and set out after the other wagons.
Within a half hour, the women had taken over the three wagons, and the remaining men were bound. They circled the wagons and three of the women who had grown up on farms unhitched the mules and hobbled them. The animals were left to graze whilst the captive men were propped against a large boulder on the roadside.
Two of the women stood guard with shotguns whilst the rest broke into Caplan's food supplies. Lucy, their undisputed leader, saw to it that no-one overate. After a quick meal of beef-jerky and biscuit, two of the women started a fire to prepare a regular supper. The rest surrounded the four men.
One of the drivers had taken part in Angie Steven's rape. There was no suitable tree within sight with the forest comprising of small conifers, and thus Angie was given the Paterson Colt. The first shot was a dud. Caplan swore realising that Lucy couldn't have shot him with that gun. Angie cocked the Colt again, and this time the gun discharged. The bullet hit the driver in the chest but he was not dead yet. Angie cocked the Colt again and fired, and this time she hit his face.
Two of the women dragged the corpse behind the boulder whilst the attention of the others shifted to Caplan and his remaining two drivers. All three of them were pale with fear at this point. Lucy stepped close to Caplan.
"Now, Mistah Caplan, we can have ourselves a little powwow, don'tcha think?"
"What do you want?" Caplan spat. “Ya can’t kill us. Y’all be lost. Ya can't jus' turn an' go back to Innepennence. Ya know what waits for y’all in Innepennence."
Rose interceded. She bent down and stared into Caplan's face.
"We don't have to kill you, you bastard. I'll tell you what I'll do, though. Every morning, whilst we are forced to stay here, I'll cut off one of your fingers. That’ll give us ten days, before I'll switch to your toes. I'll stop whilst we’re on the trail. I wager you'll want to get us to Fort Laramie before you'll run out of fingers, won’t you? You'll even get to collect your money there. What do you say?"
"You still want to go to Fort Laramie?" he asked hesitantly.
"Sure! We just don't fancy being raped and starved. That's why we'll keep the guns and the food. Oh, and we’ll get what pay Clem and the others had coming. After all, we’re doing their work now.”
"What about Ed and Billy?" Caplan asked, meaning the two surviving drivers.
"They can keep driving their wagons, and if they’re nice boys, they can collect their money from you in Fort Laramie. If not, the buzzards will get fat.”
—————
When they arrived in Fort Laramie nine days later, Caplan still had his fingers and toes. Lucy, Rose and Amanda were riding guard around the wagons, armed with the dead men's weapons.
There was a big excitement when they finally drove through the big gate. Soldiers and civilians alike came running from the bunk houses and taverns and crowded the wagons babbling and shouting.
The women looked around, too. The men they saw were, for the most part, a disreputable bunch, with long beards and in coarse clothes. The few men who wore better clothing, mostly officers of the 6th Infantry, were accompanied by women, obviously their wives. It dawned on Rose and the other women that their prospective husbands were not the sort of traders they were used to back in the east, but simple backwoods men.
The wagons came to a halt in front of the large Sutler's store, and Caplan went in. A few minutes later, he emerged again at the side of the Sutler, one Seth Ward. Caplan bid the women to climb down from the wagons. He cast withering glances at the three armed women when they mixed with the others, but he did not dare to cause trouble for them. The men, his customers, would not look favourably on him if it came out how he had tried to make extra money, and he was embarrassed, too. In the overall excitement the fact that the women prisoners were armed might be overlooked.
Caplan pulled a list from his coat and stood on a barrel.
"Gentlemen, as promised, I brought your brides. I shall now call each of you by name, and you will step up here to be acquainted with your bride."
Far more than the expected twenty-odd men surrounded the women and Caplan. Officers with their wives looked on, the latter casting disdainful looks at the convicts.
"Bill Bromley!"
"A-yup!" a middle-aged man shouted and muscled his way to the front.
Caplan searched the women with his eyes. He pointed at Alison Bulson and motioned for her to step forward.
"Alison, this is Bill Bromley. Bill, this is Alison. Get acquainted. I expect the parson will perform the wedding once I've matched up the pairs."
The bride and groom looked at each other hesitantly, but then, Bill Bromley took Alison's hand and pulled her to the side.
"Jesse Olsen!"
"Heeah!"
"This here's Lucy Walsh. She's all yours."
And so it went on. More than ten of the women had been matched already, when Caplan called:
"Ned Gourd!"
The man who came forward was aptly named, Rose thought, for his nose had indeed the shape and size to fit the surname.
"Amanda Carlisle, meet your bridegroom!"
Rose, who had held her friend's hand, felt her tremble. Mandy was a pretty young woman of twenty-four years whose husband had shot himself when he couldn't pay his accumulated debt. He left his wife to face the music, and Mandy had been sentenced to a year in the Work House for defaulting on the debt. She had been a respectable city woman, and now she would be married to this fabulously ugly man.
At least, Mister Gourd showed manners. He took off his hat, and it was obvious that he had taken a bath and had his hair cut. He was shaved, too, and he wore his best clothes.
"I'm mighty pleased, Miss Amanda," he stated. "You shore are a fine woman, an' I'll do my best to take good care o' you."
Mandy looked at him, hesitantly.
"Hello, Mister Gourd," she said, giving him a brave smile.
When Ned Gourd beamed back at her, he was transformed. By some miracle, his ugliness vanished, and he became a likeable fellow. They joined hands and a beaming Mister Gourd led his bride aside.
"Al Faulkner!" Caplan shouted next.
"He's daid!" somebody from the crowd shouted back. "Injuns got him."
"Damn!" Caplan swore. He glanced at Rose with a nasty grin. "You're a widow already."
Rose felt a chill. What if Caplan took her back to Independence? He was liable to do that to get his revenge for the women's mutiny. She forced herself to smile coldly.
"I reckon we'll just have to travel back together. Let's see who of us will make it."
Caplan's grin vanished. To her surprise, Rose realised that the man was scared of her. He cleared his throat.
"Perhaps one of the other gentlemen may want to step in for the late Mister Faulkner? I'll give you time to consider until the end of the pairing."
With that he continued to call the grooms forward, until only Rose was left standing alone.
"Now, gentlemen, here we have Baltimore Rose Donegal, and I'm sure you'll agree with me that she is a fine-looking woman. Strong and capable, too. Convicted of whoring…"
"An' nigh on killing a man!" somebody shouted. "Kilt two more on the trail!"
Rose recognised the shouter as one of the drivers. He was drunk and angry.
"She's one murderous bitch. Y'may as well swive a rattler, fellers. She done tore a man’s eyes out, back in In'epen'ence! Few days back, she'n the big'un kilt Clem an' Eugene, an' they was both packin' guns! Keep yore hands offa that bitch iffn you wanna see th' mornin'!"
With that, he turned and disappeared back in the store. Caplan was furious for the surrounding men had clearly lost their interest.
"Come on, gents! She's a fine-looking woman. What if she's got a temper? Breakin' her in is half the fun, ain't it?"
However, nobody made a bid. The men shuffled on their feet. Suddenly, Rose saw a tall man stumble forward. He had been standing with Mister Gourd and Mandy, and now he cast a reproachful look at them.
"Ah, at last! A man who’s not afraid of a wee girl. Do I hear your bid, Sir?"
"Um, yes, four eagles," the man mumbled.
"Only four? Hell, the other gentlemen paid twelve!"
"Al already gave you six in advance!" Ned Gourd yelled. "An' it shore looks like she's bad luck. She not even arrived yet, an' Al already dropped dead!"
The surrounding men laughed and Rose glared furiously at Mandy's future husband. That look more than anything scared other prospects away.
"Come on! A fine-looking lass like her! Lemme hear six!" Caplan whined.
"Six, if she brings that Navy Colt as dowry!" Ned Gourd shouted.
"Done! If there's no higher bids, Mister.. what's your name, again?"
"Jim Tremayne," the man answered.
"Well, if there's no higher offers, Mister Tremayne and Miss Rose Donegal will join the others for the ceremony."
Rose could hardly see in this moment. Her tears welled up at the shame of being auctioned off like a heifer, but now the man offered his arm to her. Blinking repeatedly, she cleared her vision. He was tall! Over six feet, with wide shoulders and narrow hips. His tanned face was young, but his blonde hair had streaks of grey in it. He looked at her with pity.
"I am most sorry, Miss Donegal, for this undignified spectacle. May I offer you my arm?"
Mutely, Rose nodded and accepted his arm. He led her over to where Mister Gourd and Mandy were standing. Mandy broke loose from her groom's arm and hugged her.
"I'm so glad, Rose! We'll be living together. Ned and Jim are partners, and we'll share the same house."
At least, that was some relief, Rose thought, hugging her friend back, before they had to form a line in front of the parson.

3. English Jim
Fort Laramie, Kansas, April 1861
"Git up, Jim! The wagons with the women are a-coming!”
'English Jim' Tremayne yawned and looked at his partner. Ned was almost dancing with excitement. Last fall, Ned had parted with four ounces of gold dust, almost a third of his year's winnings, as advance payment to that man, Caplan, to bring out a wife for him.
Save for a few floozies in Denver City, there were hardly any women around in the diggings, and Jim knew his partner to be one needy fellow. Ned had tried to trade the Ute for a squaw, but they were not interested in the gold they had panned. The man Caplan seemed to be Ned's only chance of finding a wife seeing that Ned was famously ugly.
Ned had urged Jim to get one of the women Caplan could bring for himself, but Jim had not felt it proper. Besides, most of the women convicts were whores and thieves, and some of the notions taught to him still held power over him.
For 'English Jim' Tremayne had been a gentleman and officer. In another life, he had been Captain James Weston Tremayne, of the 13th Light Dragoons, up to the fateful Battle of Balaclava, in the Crimean War. After resigning from his regiment, he had taken his meagre funds, a few changes of clothing, and his 1853 Enfield Rifle. He boarded a ship headed for Boston, where he arrived in the summer of 1855. Driven by his desire to be alone, he left Boston soon going westward. He landed in Independence, Missouri, in the next spring. He accepted work under a wagon master who took wagon trains along the Oregon Trail. Jim rode guard and trained the settlers in disciplined fighting, but mostly he filled in for wagon drivers who died or were killed. The payment was not bad and over the next years, he slowly regained his mental balance. He was even able to hold polite intercourse with the settler's wives and daughters in the end.
Returning from yet another trek to Oregon in late 1858, he heard of gold finds on the South Platte River, near Pikes Peak. He and two other hired drivers from that last trek, Ned Gourd and Abe Wilkins, decided to rush there as fast as possible to stake out claims. They fitted out hastily at Fort Laramie, investing their hard earned money in three pack horses, gold pans, shovels, and food supplies. They headed south in early October, but they were not the first to arrive at the Cherry Creek placers. They decided to push on until they reached a shanty town, Tarryall, in an area called South Park.
Here, they were able to register a large claim, in the gorge of a small tributary to Tarryall Creek. With the harsh winter approaching, they had no time to build a house. Rather, they used a rock overhang, high up over the bed of the creek, to build a primitive lean-to shelter.
Their first winter in South Park was almost their last. With a sparse supply of dry wood for fire, they barely survived the bitter cold, and Abe Wilkins developed a severe cough. It was mostly due to the warmth of the horses which they kept in the lean-to, that they could survive in their primitive housing. Fortunately, spring came early that year, and they were able to start panning.
They had picked a decent claim, and in the first four months, until August, they recovered no less than thirty-five troy ounces of gold dust, yielding them almost $600. They decided to stay and work their claim, and this necessitated the construction of a sturdy cabin. They spent most of the rest of that year building a log cabin. They also bought traps to complement their food and income during the winter months. By mid-October, the cabin was finished, and they had a sufficient supply of firewood, too.
They would have been all set for winter, but around that time, Abe Wilkins was showing signs of the consumption, and he wasted away over the winter. That was a blow for the two remaining partners, for a schedule whereby two men were panning whilst the third provided food had worked out nicely.
With his last strength, Abe Wilkins made the short ride into Tarryall where he had the town marshall write out his last will, in which he left the claim to his partners. Then, he took a room in the Golden Nugget saloon and spent the last two weeks of his life drinking and gambling away his share of the summer’s earnings. One of the saloon wenches was with him in his last hours and got to keep what was left of his money.
The remaining partners, Jim and Ned, panned forty-seven ounces that year. They had seen a sluice box on another digger’s claim and they copied the ingenious device for their use, increasing their yields considerably. That and the yields of their winter time trapping, made them decide to keep going alone.
There were no fur traders in Tarryall, and the two remaining friends, for friends they had become in the trying two years, decided to make the journey to Fort Laramie. Supplies would be cheaper there, too, and they would get a better price for their gold.
Indeed, they cleared $709 for their gold and another $210 for the furs they had collected. They were able to buy some luxury items, such as coffee beans and some liquor, as well as sturdy boots. Brand new Colt Navy revolvers were also on their list, as violence soared in the gold fields.
On their last day, a train of three wagons arrived from Independence, Missouri, and wonders over wonders, it brought women, almost thirty of them. The man who owned the wagons, a fellow named Caplan, collected delinquent women from prisons back east who agreed to marry his customers, the pioneers who could not find women in the newly settled lands.
Jim watched his friend Ned with amusement, for Ned's eyes almost bugged out. Suddenly, ugly Ned with his huge nose saw an opportunity to find himself a wife. He parted easily with the $60 dollars he had to front, and in return, he was told to be back in the next April to collect his bride.
Over the following weeks and all through the harsh winter whilst the men controlled their traps during the day, Ned spent the evenings dreaming of the woman he would soon call his wife. He imagined every hair colour or figure and he did it so vividly that sometime in late winter Jim insisted on Ned throwing out his blanket which stank to the high heavens.
Jim himself had not felt tempted to follow Ned's example. The women Caplan had brought were not his fancy. They were mostly whores or thieves, and most of the thieves had been whores before they became too old for that trade.
Jim had met a few whores, had even paid a few of them, for some rushed and soulless rutting in the dirty back rooms of taverns along the trails he had travelled. He had once even encountered a 'decent' woman, a widow on the Oregon Trail, but it was a rushed affair behind a few bushes, just a few steps away from camp, and Jim knew he had not met her expectations, finishing too soon for her to feel anything.
He had seen whores during the Crimean War, camp wenches, but he could not bring himself to touch them. They were dirty, and they took on dozens of equally dirty men every day. Priscilla was waiting for him at home, and he would not risk bringing home some illness to his future bride.
Nevertheless, when Ned made ready to go to Fort Laramie next spring, Jim accompanied him. Trapping had been good that winter, and the two friends expected a good price for their furs.
They arrived two weeks early, and they camped outside the fort trading with the Indians. Those were mostly Lakota of the Oglala tribe, and Jim and his partner were able to trade for warm clothes and other items with them. They even learned a few words in Lakota.
Caplan and his wagons were a few days late, but when the dust cloud was seen in the East, Ned made Jim break camp in haste to ride for the fort. They had to wait for another hour but once the wagons had entered the fort, Caplan was quick. Not even a half hour passed before Ned met his bride, Amanda Carlisle, and Jim had to concede that his partner was a lucky son of a gun, at least if one were to guess from Amanda's outward appearance. Ned brought her over to where Jim was waiting.
"Miss Amanda, please meet my partner, English Jim Tremayne! Jim, this here's my bride, Amanda Carlisle."
"Your servant," the words came over his lips automatically.
Amanda curtseyed. "I'm pleased to meet you, Mister Tremayne."
"Perhaps, if you were to call me Jim, Miss Amanda?"
She smiled at him. She had a ready smile, and Jim liked her immediately.
“It used to be Mistress Carlisle, but I'd appreciate you calling me Mandy."
Just then, the shouting made them look up. Obviously, one of the men who had paid for a woman had died. The woman, a striking young woman with reddish-brown curls, stood rather lost beside Caplan who announced that he would take bids for her later.
"Oh my, the poor Rose!" Mandy exclaimed. "It'll be her death if Caplan takes her back to Independence. She and Lucy were the ringleaders when we took over the wagons."
Jim suppressed a chuckle.
"What do you mean, took over?"
"Caplan wanted us to service men in the towns we came through. Lucy and Rose organised us, and we refused. Caplan didn't give us any food to force us. Three of his men also raped poor Angie and hurt her terribly. Two weeks ago, Lucy and Rose lured the two guards into a forest. I don't know what happened. We heard a shot, and when Caplan went to look for them, they brought him back alone and bound. The other two were dead we were told. Then Angie got to shoot the third of the rapists."
Jim grinned. "That li'l wisp of a girl sure has guts."
Ned had other thoughts. "Caplan wanted to whore you out? I've a mind to thrash him good for that! But wait, Jim! Why don't you bid for the girl? She's certainly pretty, and brave, too.”
Jim made a face. "I don't know, Ned. She'll fetch a huge price. Besides, I don't know…"
"Come on, Jim! Don't you chicken out here. Besides, when me and Missus Gourd will be busy in the furs, what yo’re gonna do? Lie awake and listen to us? I'm telling you, I'm not into sharing, not my wife, I ain’t. And she and my Mandy are friends already."
"I don't know. What should I bid?"
"I guess she may even run up higher than the $120 I paid Caplan. Hell, you can afford it. I'll loan you some if you need it, partner."
Jim was still undecided when Caplan began the 'auction', but just then, one of the drivers who'd had a few drinks in the tavern, burst into the open and called her a 'murderous bitch', accusing her of killing and maiming men. He heard murmurs from the bystanders who opined that the girl, pretty as she was, was not worth the risk of waking up with a cut throat or gouged eyes. Ned nudged him.
"You can snatch her up for small money, partner. Go for it!"
With that he pushed Jim forward who stumbled to the front, and when Caplan asked him, he made his bid of $40. From then on, Ned took over the haggling from behind, and Jim was still dazed when he stood before the redhead. He saw the tears in her eyes, and he felt with her. To be auctioned off like cattle must have been degrading. His first sentence conveyed this.
"I am most sorry, Miss Donegal, for the undignified treatment you had to suffer. May I offer you my arm?"
Nodding silently the girl took his arm, and he led her over to where Ned and Mandy were waiting. The women hugged, and then they all had to stand in line for the post's chaplain to perform the wedding.
It was over in ten minutes. They all repeated the required words in chorus and were pronounced man and wife. The marriage certificates had been prewritten by Caplan, and the men and women mostly made their cross signs. On Jim and Rose's certificate, the name of the dead man, one Al Faulkner, was crossed out and Jim's name was filled in. Jim signed writing his full name. To his surprise, his new wife signed with her name, too, in a clear, legible hand.
When he was allowed to kiss the bride, he only touched her lips briefly, unsure of how to do this. She gave him a weak smile.
"Let's ride over to the Lakota, Jim," Ned interrupted them. "We must trade for some warm clothes for Rose and Mandy. We'll need a pony for them, too."
Ned led the way to their horses.
"Where are we going?" Rose asked, seemingly awakening from her post-marital stupor.
"We're going south, up the South Platte River. English Jim and me, we own a good claim there. We built a log cabin, too, where you'll be safe and warm.” Ned's ugly face showed his pride.
"No, I mean, which town are we going to?" Rose insisted. Then she registered Ned's words. "English Jim? Why would they call you English Jim?"
"Because I'm English?" Jim answered hesitantly because he could see the blood shooting into Rose's face.
"I married an Englishman? God help me!"
"You're Irish?"
"On my father's side. My Mum was Welsh."
They were standing in front of Jim's horse now. He mounted first and then helped Rose up behind him. With Ned and Amanda leading the way they rode out of the fort.
"What happened to you? I mean, what got you into this mess?"
"I was working the Emerald Isle Saloon in Independence, you know, serving drinks and serving customers if the money was right. This one man, Patrick Bunion was his name, his family is very important in Independence, and he paid me for the night."
Rose didn't know why, but she flushed pink. It went a little against her grain, to tell her new husband how she had earned her living.
"He turned out to be mean, even brutal. He… He wanted to whip me."
Jim shook his head.
“Why?”
“You wouldn’t believe the things some men want. I fought him real hard and I scratched his face and eyes before he gave up. He went blind on one eye, and the Sheriff locked me up. Before I knew what and when, the Justice had sentenced me to seven years in the work house. I was lucky, though. I… I knew the Justice, and he arranged for Caplan to take me away before they could send me to the work house. Bunion's uncle or cousin runs it, and I wouldn't have survived in there."
Over Rose's tale, they had reached the campsite. Their tent was on the small side, and both men realised with dismay that it would never fit four people. Eagerly, Ned rode back to the fort to find a second tent whilst Jim went over to where the Lakota were camping. He had previously traded for buckskins with them paying with coffee and tobacco, which the Lakota could not buy at the fort.
He helped the women select warm fur boots and moccasins as well as leggings and tunics made of leather. Both women looked slightly apprehensive. They both realised that they would leave civilisation behind, and the prospect was worrisome.
Jim made them dress in their new outfits whilst he busied himself with starting a fire. When they emerged from the tent, he nodded appreciatively. The buckskin outfits looked serviceable on the women, and they fit well.
Ned came back with the tent and with two horses in tow. He explained laughingly how he had confronted Caplan about the treatment of the women. The man had been scared when Ned threatened to beat him up over that and he had agreed to let Ned have the two horses of the dead guards for just $26. That was indeed a great idea as they all agreed, for the horses were used to Mandy and Rose already.
The second tent was pitched and Ned claimed it for Mandy and himself. Jim agreed good-naturedly and Ned moved his bedroll into the new tent. Ned had also bought fresh bread for supper, a rare treat for the men, and they ate venison roast from a doe Jim had shot the day before. They had ale to drink, from a small keg they had bought at the Sutler's, and Jim explained that he and Ned rarely drank liquor. That was fine with Mandy and Rose who accepted some of the ale, too.
With all their goods and their new wives, Jim and Ned decided to keep a watch. Jim owned a fob watch, and the men agreed on four shifts of two-and-half hours each. They decided on Ned taking the first and third watches, which meant that Jim and Rose could turn in to sleep.
They crawled into their tent, and Jim took off his outer clothing, keeping on his 'union suit'. Hesitantly, Rose took off her tunic and trousers leaving her in her wool underwear. The glow from the fire outside gave some light, and Rose looked at her new husband.
"Do you want me now?"
She could have sworn that he blushed. He cleared his throat, anyway.
"Perhaps we can get to know each other first? I mean, you are really pretty, but maybe we can just hold each other for a while and talk?"
"That would be nice," Rose answered feeling somewhat rebuked nevertheless.
They settled under their blankets, and Rose moved close to him, allowing him to put his arms around her. He did, and the touch felt reassuring to Rose.
"Jim?"
"Yes?"
"You seem to be a good man, polite and caring. I'll try to be a good wife for you. I'm not much of a cook, but I can sew and clean, and I'll learn how to cook from Mandy. I'll work hard, too."
"I know you will, Rose. I'll try to make it as easy for you as I can. You'll make a fine wife if you put your heart in it."
"Why did you leave England? I can hear that you're a learned man."
"I… I used to be an officer in a dragoon regiment. Did you hear of the Crimean War?"
Rose thought briefly. There had been some talk in the tavern in Baltimore, years ago. She had not paid much attention to it.
"I seem to remember. Wasn't it about Turks?"
"You could say that. We were sent to protect our ally, the Sultan of Turkey, against the Tsar of Russia. There was a battle, at a village called Balaclava. We had to charge against the Russian artillery and we lost a lot of men. I was badly wounded.
“They sent me home and when I arrived, my fiancée had broken the engagement and was about to marry another man. I was fed up with it all. I resigned my commission and took a ship to Boston. I worked on the Oregon Trail for three years. That's where I met Ned. He's a great fellow.
"Two years ago, we heard about gold being discovered on the South Platte River. We bought some gear and rode down there, got a claim, and started panning. We were three then, Ned, Abe, and I, but Abe died last year from consumption. It was the first winter that killed him. Since then, we've build a sturdy cabin, and the last winter was much easier. We pan for gold in the creek, and in the winter, we set traps. Two or three more years like that, and we'll have enough to start a farm or a ranch in Oregon."
Rose had listened to him silently, but now she felt she had to say something.
"That sounds really nice. I've never had such a goal. My dad died when I was little, and my mother when I was thirteen. We were living in Baltimore, that's why they call me Baltimore Rose. I cleaned in a tavern to earn my keep. When I was fifteen, the man who owned the tavern took me to his room for the first time. After that, I had to go with the patrons every night. I was afraid and I hurt a lot. I was small then, even smaller than now.
"Four years ago, a man came through. He paid for a night with me and he was real kind and gentle. In the next morning he kissed me and asked me to marry him. I was so stupid! I believed him. He said his name was George Dupree and he said he'd take me to meet his family. We sneaked away in the middle of the following night. We travelled all the way to the Mississippi and then took a steamboat for the journey upriver. It was a great experience. He was ever so courteous and we even travelled by stage coach to Independence. In Independence, he rented a room in the Emerald Isle saloon. When I woke up, he was gone and the owner told me I had to work for him now. My 'fiancé' had sold me. Mister Adams told me later that Dupree's real name was George Sims and that he traded girls all over the west."
She took a deep breath.
"At first I was crushed. I had thought that my days as a whore were over, and now I wasn't even at home anymore. Then I found out that the Emerald Isle was not a bad place; we girls could keep half the money we earned, and Mister Adams was always polite. One of the women had been a schoolteacher before, and in our spare time, she taught us how to read and write. I had saved some money and jewellery when they locked me up. That's all gone now. It’s like whenever I feel I have made my way up a little, somebody kicks me back down."
Suddenly, she felt a mouth on her mouth. It was a short kiss, not lecherous or demanding, just a kiss.
"Your luck is about to change, Rose."
She giggled at his boyish attempt to console her.
"And yours. I'll not cheat on you like that English girl. I may be a whore, but I've always kept my side of the deals."
She snuggled close to him, comfortable with his warmth. For a while, she listened to his breathing, but then the exertions of the last days caught up with her and she fell asleep.
Rose did not wake up when Ned roused Jim two hours later to take the second watch. She woke when he returned to the tent during the third watch, and she snuggled against him.
When she woke up the next time, he was gone again and she was cold. It was April and the nights were nippy. Wrapped in her blanket she peeked out of the tent and saw Jim sitting by the fire, with his rifle across his lap and wrapped in a blanket. She scooted back into the tent and searched for her buckskin clothes. She shivered, for the leather was cold, and she was grateful for the warmth of her fur boots.
When she emerged from the tent, he looked up and smiled at her.
"Good morning, Rose!"
"Is it morning already? I woke up from the cold. Can I sit with you by the fire?"
Jim put two more pieces of wood into the fire and bade her sit with him. They huddled together under his blanket and stared into the flames.
"What are the plans for today?" she whispered.
"We'll break camp and head south. It'll take us three weeks riding to reach the South Park diggings. Are you comfortable on that horse?"
Rose smiled. "Don't worry about me too much. I may be small, but I'm mean. Shall we have to keep watch on the trail?"
Jim shook his head.
"No, mostly not. It's just around the fort, with so many people around, that we rather keep watch."
"To protect your precious wives?" she asked with a smile.
"That, and our horses and gear. We also thought that Caplan and his helpers might try something to get back at you."
Rose shook her head and the reddish tresses danced.
"He's afraid of me."
"Yes, but scared dogs bite. Anyway, with the Lakota around, we're pretty safe. We've traded with them and shared a few meals. I don't think that would keep them from stealing us blind, but I can’t see that Caplan fellow sneaking past them to get to us."
"Are there Indians where we'll go?"
"The Ute live around South Park. They're actually decent chaps. You can talk and trade with them. They're not as warlike as the Comanches or the Pawnees. We mostly get along with them."
"Jim, I don't want you to get this wrong, but I'm a bit scared. A few weeks ago, I was sitting in a saloon, dressed nicely, and all I had to do for a living was to take a man or three upstairs. I mean, they were louts and dirty, but it was over quickly most of the times. Now you'll take me to a place I've never heard of, and there's Indians and cold winters."
"Of course you're scared, Rose. Ned and I shall help you girls. We'll teach you what you need to know. By the way, that Navy Colt you're packing, do you know how to shoot it and take care of it?"
"We had Colts at work. Mister Adams made us practice with them. Some patrons could get wild, and we'd back him up when that happened.”
"We'll get you a rifle, too. A Colt is fine and dandy for a saloon, but out here, the bad fellows rarely get close enough."
"All right. What do you say, should I brew some coffee?"
"That would be nice, Rose."
An hour after sunrise, they had broken camp, and their gear was stowed away on the four pack horses. They rode into the fort once more and stopped at the gunsmith shop. Here, the women were fitted with light rifles in .36 caliber. A little after nine o'clock, they mounted their horses and started on the trail.

4. Raven Feather
En route, April 1861
It was a sunny spring day, and they made over twenty miles, in spite of the late start. The animals were rested, and the trail was easy. They made camp in a narrow gorge, a half mile away from the trail, where their fire would not be seen far. They built a small, Indian fire and huddled around it in their blankets for the night.
Rose woke from her exhausted sleep when she heard a squeal. She smiled when she heard Mandy's giggle and Ned's chuckle. Then, Mandy gasped audibly, and her excited whisper carried farther than she intended.

English Jim & the Baltimore Rose

Peter Argonis

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Book 1 — His Lucky Charm

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