Path of the Tiger

the time. I never take it off; I even kept it on me on the brink of battle. When I thought we were to make a charge, I took it out and looked upon your face. I had to; it reminded me why I’m here, why I’m doing this. It’s tough, my love, so tough, but I’ll get through it. I must. I know that as much as fate brought us together, fate will surely keep us together. It’s written in the stars, you and I.

Remember that, Aurora: it’s our destiny to be together, to spend the rest of our lives together, to grow old and grey with one another and have children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren. You’ll paint your pictures and I’ll write my poems, and we’ll have a wee garden with trees and flowers, and we’ll go out riding in the hills and forest every day. It’ll be wonderful. Thinking of this future with you is what is keeping me going through all of this madness and violence.

I don’t belong here. I belong with you.

I miss you enormously, and my heart is with you always.

Your darling,

William.

William set his writing quill down and leaned back to stretch his arms. He closed his eyes and smiled, savouring the soothing sound of Andrew’s guitar playing. He then folded up the letter neatly, put it in an envelope and scribbled Aurora’s address on the front just as Michael and Paul stepped into the tent.

‘Oy Will, Andy,’ Paul said with an excited grin, ‘come out here fir a minute.’

‘What’s going on then?’ William asked, standing up and stretching his limbs out with a satisfied grunt.

‘Come on boyo, just come out an’ see,’ Paul urged.

‘Aye, come out here you two lazy bastards,’ Michael insisted. ‘You’ve got tae see this!’

‘All right all right,’ Andrew acquiesced as he carefully set his guitar down and stood up. ‘What are we looking at, then?’

‘Follow me,’ Paul instructed with a wry smile.

William and Andrew followed Paul and Michael, and once they were outside, they saw right away what the two young men were so excited about.

‘What’s tha’ about now?’ William asked, staring at the massive covered wagon being pulled past their tent by two stout ploughhorses. The wagon had the look of a gypsy vardo, but it was not painted in the bright colours of that sort of vehicle, being finished instead with plain varnish over the bare wood. On the side, printed in yellow and gold lettering on the wooden panelling, were the words, ‘PHOTOGRAPHIC VAN’.

‘Photo … photographic?’ Andrew murmured. ‘What’s that?’

‘I reckon it’s a new weapon, a secret weapon ay great power tae help us against the Russians,’ Michael suggested, the smug grin on his face evincing his faith in this theory of his. ‘Aye, this thing will win the war fir us, I’ll wager.’

‘I dunnae think tha’s a weapon, Mikey,’ Paul countered. ‘The chap driving the wagon looks like a civilian, does he no’?’

‘Er, why dunnae we just ask the driver, lads?’ William suggested before he strode purposefully over to the wagon as it trundled along the bumpy dirt track.

‘Hold on there Will!’ called Andrew, ever cautious, after him. ‘What if it is some sort ay secret weapon! We’ll get in trouble, we will!’

It was too late to try to call William back now, though, for he had already stopped the driver, a pleasant-looking fellow of average height and build who sported a bushy auburn beard. He looked to be in his late thirties and wore a well-made if somewhat workmanlike khaki suit. He doffed his hat, which matched his suit, as William approached.

‘Excuse me sir,’ William said with an amicable smile, ‘but my friends and I were just wondering, like, what this phot-, photogra—’

‘What my photographic van is, Private?’

‘Aye, aye, sir, tha’s what we’d like tae know, if it’s not tae much bother fir you tae tell us.’

The man beamed a smile at William, obviously delighted at having someone take an interest in his area of expertise.

‘No bother at all, Private, none at all! Have you never heard the term “photograph” before?’

‘No, I havenae.’

‘Perhaps you have heard of daguerreotypy?’

‘Oh aye, aye!’ William answered, his eyes lighting up with excitement. ‘It’s tha’, um, machine tha’ can capture an image more lifelike than any painter! I’ve heard talk ay such things, but have ne’er seen a daguerrotype picture before. Everyone has told me tha’ they’re quite wondrous, though. So tha’s what you’re doing here, making daguerrotype images?’

‘Close,’ the man said. ‘I use a different technique though, something new and more advanced than daguerreotypy. However, I’ll not bore you with technical talk. My name is Roger Fenton, by the way, and I’ve been appointed to document this war via my art form – or, should I say, the fusing of art and the latest advances in the technological and scientific fields! Now, who might you be, good Private?’

‘I’m Private William Gisborne, sir, ay the 17^th Lancers.’

‘There’s no need for this “sir” business, lad, I’m not a military officer. Tell me, would you and your friends like to pose for me? I’ve been taking photographs of the soldiers and officers of a number of the regiments stationed here, but I have yet to capture an image of any soldiers of the 17^th.’

‘Pose fir you, Mr Fenton? Aye, aye! Does tha’ mean you’re going tae make a daguerrotype image ay us?’

Fenton nodded, smiling eagerly.

‘Yes, of course! Not a daguerrotype, though, but a photograph, which, as I said, is rather similar. Would you be interested in doing this?’

‘Aye, we most certainly would! Let me tell the lads, then,’ William said.

He went back and told the others about Fenton’s request, and all of them were eager to participate in the creation of the photograph. They approached the wagon, and he showed them a few photographs that he and his assistant had already produced, and all four of them were in awe of the amazingly lifelike images, regardless of the fact that the photographs only depicted the scenes they had snatched from reality