Chapter 9: The Anchor Inn at Burbage

A week had passed since my company had moved to take post at Burbage, a small village alongside the Kennet and Avon canal. The long Indian summer had finally come to an end, with a vengeance, as it had been continuous heavy rain since the day we had arrived. It was now the back end of November and it was difficult to believe that I had been cavorting naked with Susannah, in the warmth of summer, not much more than a month ago.

The rain was now sheeting down, the temperature had dropped like a stone and it was hell being out on such nights. I had managed to obtain some tarpaulins, and canvas sheeting, as protection for the sentinels, but it was still a cold and wet spell of duty for the men. I was pleased at how well the men had responded to the different weather and duty conditions, as it had been rather soft for them in Laverton but now it was more like soldiering on campaign. Of course many of my men had not yet had that pleasure, and it would have come as a shock, for them to be cold and wet for long periods at a time.

By now my routine for the day was fixed. I would rise about nine in the morning and make my ablutions and have breakfast. After which I would catch up on any company paper work and deal with any disciplinary matters. At noon I was served a good lunch by Mine Host of the Anchor Inn, a well-made buxom woman, with a fine head of coppery red hair. I estimated her to be around forty years of age, and she carried those years well.

After my lunch I would take my ease until half past two, and then I would put on my tunic, buckle on my sword belt, place my shako on my head and set out for my term of duty. I checked with McMurdoe on any unusual occurrences during his shift, inspected my men, posted the guards and sent out patrols. Once a week I would ride into to Devizes and report to Adjutant Bywaters at HQ, and then spend an hour or so picking up the latest gossip, before making the long ride back to Burbage in the gathering gloom. I would have a bite to eat in the Anchor Inn at about seven in the evening and then continue doing my rounds. At two in the morning McMurdoe and his section would come on duty. I would inform him of what had happened during the night, before handing the responsibility for guarding our stretch of the canal over to him. As soon as I got back to the Anchor Inn, usually about half past three in the morning, I would fall exhausted into my bed.

It appeared I had not made a very good impression on Mine Host at our first meeting. The welcome she afforded me, when I rode up to the Inn the day my company arrived in Burbage, was chilly, to say the least. She had scarcely looked at me but showed me straight way to my room, without as much as a smile or even introducing herself. When I remarked that I would be coming in from duty at an early hour of the morning she became quite vexed.

"I'll not have you waking my other guests by stumping about upstairs in your great clod hopping army boots. I will find you a room on the ground floor."

I was mortified at her remark regarding my footwear, for I had spent a deal of money having two pairs of fine Hessian boots, of the latest fashion, made by a master boot-maker in Bordeaux.