by Ron Pearse
Chalmers might have told the Secretary of State that the fault was entirely St John's but diplomatically included himself in blame saying:
"We thought an earl would be that much more secure than a commoner." he smiled wistfully as if recalling the fact that his predecessor Robert Harley would not have made the same mistake, and added: "what we forget sir was her majesty's three-line power in the name of Mathew Prior. Do not blame the soldiers at Walmer. One person with two identities arriving from France, it screams: Spy! Who can say that none of us would arrive at a similar conclusion in the circumstances, sir?
St John nodded ruefully as he came back to face his steward having paced up and down during his speech, saying mournfully:
"You are right Chalmers. I must take my share of the blame." Then remembering Alice he rushed to the door turning to ask: "When is it light tomorrow?"
Chalmers reassured him: "Be here at five, sir. I'll do the rest."
St John rushed back where he had left Alice though he need not have concerned himself for she was reading correspondence that he knew had been stamped MOST SECRET and gently dislodging her fingers therefrom, turned it round to show the two words. She smiled sweetly at him and his heart melted while his brain turned to mush and which could barely distinguish her words: "I knew it was the queen's work; her spelling is worse than a kitchen-maid's."
He tried to tell her as they left there had been a change of plan but she was unperturbed asking him to return her to the palace where as a privy counseller she was entitled to free carriage home. On their way thither while his thoughts were of his imminent journey she spoke of her sister, that she was planning to persuade her to some recreation. Alice thought the clean, clear air of a river journey would be ideal for a woman recovering from a pregnancy and who had returned to her duties too soon for her own good. Her majesty will be only too pleased for the both of us to spend the day somewhere; as long as Abigail is back by the evening.
St John had caught these last few words of his companion and said absent-mindedly: "What was that you spoke of Abigail. Is it of Mrs Masham, you speak. It seems the country owes a lot to her. I would so wish to make her acquaintance upon my return."
They had arrived at the back stairs of St James Palace and Alice refused his help to alight from the cabriolet. After explaining he would be away for an indefinite time, she looked up to say:
"I dare say we shall have cause to celebrate the coming of peace soon, sir, but how may we celebrate Matt's Peace without Matt. You will be putting that to rights, sir, I'm sure. Goodbye."
With that closing comment, Alice walked gracefully towards the steps leading up to the rear of the palace. He watched until she disappeared with a quick wave of her hand through the back door.
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On the morrow Chalmers was as good as his words had promised; moreover, proffering needed encouragement and advice that St John hoped he would remember, and all of it as the occasion arose. He lacked for nothing it seemed even to the placing of his wheellock pistol. It was out of sight yet not out of reach in an emergency. His advice to wear a red coat reflected perceived danger of the open road as Chalmers declared:
"You cannot always be on your guard, sir and so a military style coat together with your height and bearing will deter the average highwayman."
His final advice to the traveller was to take the short cut via the privy Gardens once he had left Whitehall on his way to the horse-ferry at Sand Wharf.
"No money needed, sir, bless my soul. It is Mr St John is it not. There it is in my little book. The missus mentioned you t'other day, sir. She says, how come that gentleman with the saint's name, calls hisself Sin-Jin. I calls it a crime! Now, don't take offence sir. She means no harm. It's just her way. She s very partial to saints, sir, especialy Saint John."
St John let the ferryman blather on only half-listening. He was more concerned whether to take the riverside track or cut across the plantations.
"Here we are, sir, Whitening Wharf. Your best way sir this time of day is across the plantations. When you pass Dirty Lane, you'll know you're on the right road. God speed, sir! We shall see each other anon."
Then the ferryman had turned to operating the long oar in the centre of the ferry to take him back as St John mounted and with a light spur cantered between the trees. Once he had crossed the Borough High Street he looked for the Kent Road which led directly to Blackheath. It might have been an early hour for St John but not for this part of south London though once he had steered Beauty through the throng of people on their way to London Bridge, the only span across the Thames, at that time, it was easier going.
The locals had managed, he noticed, to prevent the encroachment of hedges on to their common land which stretched like a of carpet of grass as far as the eye could see especially on the northern side of the road. He got down off Beauty and wandered over the green sward and allowed his mare to crop the grass at the edges where it grew long. In the middle distance a crowd of young men hastened in one direction like a shoal of fish frightened by a seal, and then for some reason in the opposite direction and he wondered about the object of their meanderings. Then all made sense for rising out of the scrum high into the air was a large ball and as he watched its descent his eye caught the remains of an abbey recalling his friend Harcourt's words to stand on the mount in Greenwich Park and you will behold a sight, and I'll warrant not a more noble sight in Christendom.
Here he was at Greenwich en route, it is true, and in haste, to the coast yet when else would he have that opportunity and how could he look Harcourt in the face again having missed out on Greenwich? He took a decision and, gently coaxing Beauty away from the verge, he started walking, then mounted to the saddle, riding towards the summit. It was soft underfoot as she cantered up the gentle slope towards the ruins and as he breasted the rise and looked towards the swathe of snaking river, he blessed Creation for the magnificent vista before him. Fascinated he observed boats, ships and craft of all sizes and shapes furrow their way through the water in either direction to disappear west towards London or eastwards on their way to the estuary and perhaps the oceans of the world.
There was a crowd of people observing the same view and one of them turned and, his heart stopped. It was Alice. Instantly their eyes met and she half-ran to greet him and he slipped from the saddle to greet her:
"What are you doing here, Mistress Alice?"
St John's words seemed banal but hers were no less unoriginal:
"I might say that of you, sir. Why are you not on the road to Deal?"
She held up her hands and half-mockingly chided him: "Do not say a word. It is a state secret and ladies may not know such things."
On hearing her, another woman in the crowd had turned round and St John beheld a strong featured countenance and knew at the instant who it was, but before the thought could crystallize, Alice said:
"Sister, meet Mr Henry St John."
He came towards her and took her hand in his and kissed it. Alice said:
"Mrs Abigail Masham, sir." The lady smiled and simply said: "Delighted to make your acquaintance, I'm sure."
St John gushed: "Not a tenth as delighted ma'am as your humble servant to make your acquaintance at long last."
She smiled at the compliment though it was Alice who spoke next:
"Well, sister, are you not pleased I persuaded you to an excursion to Greenwich. See, how the fresh air has improved your complexion."
"But not a tenth as pleased as Mr St John, How say you, sir!"
He flushed at his compliment being returned and blurted out:
"Sadly ma'am, I must cut short my own excursion otherwise I shall not meet my steward's expectations."
"Indeed sir! We must not keep a Secretary of State too long a-dallying, eh sister." There was a hint of derision in her words and he did not give direct answer simply saying:
"Delighted to make your acquaintance, Mrs Masham." Then addressing Alice h
e bade her farewell whereas she simply said: "Farewell sir. Remember what we spoke of yesterday."
He was scarcely aware of his surroundings as he led Beauty away and not until he had gained the lower slope did he remount and give a final look around from the vantage point of his saddle. Alice waved, he reciprocated and then cantered away. His thoughts were full of both women as he regained the road and thereafter for many miles.
He blessed the occasion of meeting Alice again yet wondered what he might have chanced had she not been alone. Yet it was scarcely a recompense for having to miss his rendezvous of yesterday and cursed Prior for getting himself detained. Why did he not see the flaw in the arrangement which Chalmers had pointed out, but then flushed with embarrassment for he had promised him to send an express to Walmer Castle to explain the subterfuge; a subterfuge which seemed pointless now.
Beauty whinnied and pulled at the reins startling him from his reverie and he saw a trough of water in a lay-by and the reason for Beauty's interest. At least he thought my beast has her wits about her allowing the mare to take him to the trough slipping out of the saddle. As she slurped he looked around him for a familiar landmark and spotted a milestone just being able to make out of the slanting letters and figures, the message Rochester 1 M. For a moment he dwelt on the earl of the name and his recent demise; having lived through troubled times, he hoped his forbear, the second earl, would bring more fortune to himself - and his country.
"Befriend a horse and you're never alone!" St John heard the words thinking he knew that voice and turned in recognition: "Adam!" He cried out for joy reciprocated by an instant:
"Henry, you son of a gun!"
The two men let fall their reins and embraced and St John allowed himself to be kissed on both cheeks and a third time as St John heckled: "Those old Huegenot habits. They'll be the death of you one day."
"Today, indeed. I'm out of the ministry." A smiling Adam de Cardonnel told St John adding, "Which is why I am on this road. Yet fortuitous to meet you, Henry." St John looked at the high forehead of the man opposite and said with a cynical smirk:
"Now Adam, not even a Frenchman will claim that meeting me is worth a ministry. But what are the circumstances? I knew nothing of this from Chalmers before I left this morning."
"What need of a Minister for War when there is no war, at least, a Marlborough sort of war. It was he who originally recommended me to my dear friend Godolphin who recommended me to her majesty. But, now Godolphin is no more."
Both men were silent and Cardonnel patted his horse to hide his tears. St John asked: "No fear of privateers, then Adam!"
Cardonnel shaking off his sadness said cheerfully: "One sight of a Royal Navy man-o-war and they leave us alone. Those French privateers are after easy pickings not quarrels with English seamen. The route from Margate to Antwerp is as safe as the Bank of England."
By now both men had remounted as their road would take them to Canterbury where Cardonnel's would diverge to Margate while St John's would end in Deal.
"So we have a peace loving Minister for War."
"Well put, Henry. What say you to George Grenville?"
"He would not hurt a fly." riposted St John.
"Not even a French fly. His appointment will be announced in the London Gazette's next issue. I want to notify his grace myself. Besides London is no place for a war-mongering Frenchman. I have to hand it to you English, my old friend."
St John looked across at his friend. He allowed his mount to walk at its own pace, as he did, with reins slack. Ahead the road went straight into the distance as they were on the old Roman road. They were virtually alone, the only other people being the occupants of farms and cottages which they passed. There was a blackbird singing for all its worth as if wanting tell them something but, of course, singing because it had the energy and wanted to. He said: "What do you hand to me, Adam. Not some old Huegenot saw."
"Saw it might be yet I'm grateful that as a possible enemy I was put in charge of anything, let alone the War Ministry."
St John chuckled: "Sound policy, Adam. We had to keep an eye on a man like you. Besides, how does the old saw go! Set a thief etc."
Cardonnel shot a glance at his friend and realised he meant nothing untoward and as if he did not expect any reaction St John went on:
"Where do you expect to find his grace?"
"Not far from Bouchain not far from the frontier. Le marechal Villar has promised Louis that le Malbrouk will never penetrate the defensive line he has constructed to save France from further invasion. He calls it 'Le ligne ne plus ultra' which in English translates roughly as 'they shall not pass', but you well know how his grace feels about impregnable fortresses."
St John however only half-listened to Cardonnel. His thoughts were in turmoil struggling to confess to his friend that he was on his way to meet the man with a peace treaty that would scupper any invasion plans. His grace the duke had also been good to Henry St John and he felt deeply ashamed but Cardonnel did not notice and went on talking about the doings of the man that he admired more than any other man in Europe, Englishman though he may be and continued:
"It will be Lille all over again, Henry. You mark what I say. It was Vauban's masterpiece yet how long did it take the duke to break its spirit? St John did not answer giving a feeble smile and encouraged Cardonnel to go on to explain the campaign:
"We started to deploy to surround the city on August 2nd, 1708, and completed its encirclement by the 13th and all the time the army was under fire from the citadel, from its five bastions." Cardonnel stopped and gave a look which St John read as horror and Cardonnel explained:
"The slaughter of those days. Ghastly. Yet no-one demurred. All had absolute confidence in the duke, and our faith was not misplaced."
St John forgot his woes and listened to Cardonnel recount the siege. He said, as a matter of politeness, wishing him to ignore his pleas: "If you don't wish to talk about it, I understand. It must be painful to recall."
Cardonnel nodded and said: "It is a pain, yet joy too. It's the genius of his grace. Truly Henry I was privileged to serve him. On the night of the 13th, his grace ordered Cadogan to site the mortars. Vauban in the construction of the fortress had diverted the local river to surround the city walls yet that lulled the citadel into a false sense of security. The men in the Citadel must have been shocked the next day to find our mortars in position."
Cardonnel had to stop the narrative as they were about to cross the bridge over the Medway in the town of Rochester. There was a toll to pay and thereafter the going was easier as the two riders passed through the suburb of Strood. In the distance on their left appeared a forest of masts signifying one of the busiest ports beyond London, namely Chatham, and even the passers-by reflected their maritime calling. Many were the men in striped jerseys, calico trousers and jaunty straw hats. Such scenes and scenery occupied their vision for many a mile and it was not until they were through the forest of Rainham well on the way to Sittingbourne that St John tentatively addressed Cardonnel:
"Carry on Adam. We still have many miles before we reach Canterbury. Time enough to complete the story, if you still can bear it."
"You can imagine our losses as we were still under constant bombardment from their cannon in the bastions. Yet the work done by the sappers at night was about to bear fruit. It was a matter of getting the ranging shots right and adjusting the elevation accordingly."
"But what about the gunners? They were still under fire, surely?" St John said with a concerned tone though Cardonnel reassured him:
"That was good and unexpected, the fact that their shot passed over our positions. The men were still in danger but the mortars were safe. The sappers lit the fuses at knee level though not for long for after a dozen direct hits, the mortars made a shambles of the bastion du roi. Then it was a case of the sappers manoevering the heavy cannon into the next position. We dealt with three such bastions in like fashion."
"But the city of Lille did not surrender un
til October, Adam. Since the citadel was inside the walls, you still had to knock them down." St John looked puzzled wondering at the duke's strategy."
Cardonnel said appreciatively: "There speaks the voice of experience. You remember your own scouting days and the necessity of weighing options. The Citadel had all round fire and could reach any part of the city so even had we knocked down a wall, the Citadel intact was still a menace apart from a hostile population. So his grace destroyed the external facing bastions to give the army bivouac space. Then he ordered the artillery to annihilate the Porte St Andre and other strongpoints while inhibiting cannonfire from the Citadel. Moreover by surrounding the city, no food supplies could get in."
"I pity the inhabitants of Bouchain." St John was not serious though it brought an effective end to Cardonnel's narrative. Besides they had reached another milestone that thousands of pilgrims must have welcomed in their day; etched in stone, it said Canterbury, 6 miles. Their road rose above the surrounding countryside and a nearby burnt-out pile indicated Beacon Hill whereby the travellers could not forbear to stop and admire the splendid vista to the north-east shimmering in the early evening sun and they saw clearly it was a sheet of water surrounded by reeds. St John murmurred, the Swale estuary and ruefully wished he had his fowling piece as a flood of ducks rose honking into the distance.
Cardonnel nodded in agreement: "I shall certainly come back here, Henry with my duck gun." Another horde of wild ducks arose from the marshes and headed for them to pass overhead quacking their defiance. St John snatched at his pistol and screamed: "Bang, bang." as he aimed the gun skywards. "The ducks have the last word," he said with resignation saying almost petulantly: "My pistol wants for powder in the firing pan though by the time, I've poured it in, the wretched birds would be away."
"As in all things, Henry, preparation is all. You load your piece beforehand with powder. Then you sit and wait."
"And along comes a gust of wind and blows the powder from the pan. That is my experience." St John was grim in his determination to defeat his friend’s argument.
