He drove between the two locked blades.
‘Up, I say!’ thrusting his sabre between them.
Another – instinct, or evil? – cut at his sword arm.
Blades flashed left and right.
A dragoon fell. Two cuirassiers followed.
Blades the length of the line now.
Rennie weighed in from nowhere with all the authority of his rank, somehow transcending the barrier of noise and language.
Both sides reeled momentarily.
Their colonel bore down. ‘Arrête!’
NCOs berated their own, on both sides.
The brawl petered out.
Hervey galloped into the melee and all but seized the colonel’s reins. ‘Vous avez blessé des soldats du Roi d’Angleterre!’
The lines fell still – a sullen, glowering stand-off.
The colonel seemed only now to comprehend. He saw the black crape. He looked dazed.
‘For whom are you in mourning, monsieur?’
His accent was more of the street than the château.
‘For His late Majesty, King George,’ barked Hervey.
Confusion overcame him. ‘You are, then, English?’
Hervey spoke his precisest French. ‘I am the commanding officer of His Majesty King William’s Sixth Light Dragoons, and under the terms of the Final Act of the Congress of Vienna I am authorized to prevent the invasion of the sovereign territory of the Kingdom of the Netherlands.’
Bluff it might be called; audacity certainly – magnificent audacity. Either way, there could be no more words. Ne plus ultra.
The colonel sheathed his sword.
Hervey merely recovered his.
And, oh, the irony. In life the old King could do nothing but put on uniform and play the game of soldiers, while in death he could turn back a regiment of cuirassiers. Hervey grew tall in the saddle and demanded he yield.
The colonel cleared his throat. ‘Monsieur le commandant, I am commanded to make no war on an ally. My orders are only to secure the safety of the people of these parts.’
Hervey bowed. ‘They are in no danger, monsieur, as you might presume from the presence of His Majesty’s troops.’
The colonel, his aspect still one of daze, shook his head. ‘In that case I shall withdraw at once to Maubeuge to consult with my superiors.’
Hervey nodded. ‘I understand, monsieur. But please make plain to your superiors that English troops shall remain here to secure the safety not only of the people but of the Kingdom of the Netherlands.’
The colonel, humbled like the challenging stag that had not the potency, though it might one day, withdrew warily. Hervey had not been inclined to melt at the word ‘ally’ and to part on fraternal terms, for one of his dragoons was unhorsed. It was no occasion for civility.
When the French had quit the field, he turned to the bloody consequences of his audacious victory. The surgeon had set up post at the spinney, where Hervey found Princess Augusta kneeling next to the dragoon, whose leg was broken and bleeding, and a corporal whose nose was split so badly that blood had turned his tunic facings red, the countess trying to staunch the flow with pieces of her petticoat, while the princess used hers to bind the dragoon’s legs together.
But Milne and his orderlies were cutting away urgently at another coat, which was blood-soaked beyond recognition – like their aprons.
‘Who … Collins?’
‘Artery, Hervey … If I can’t get a clamp to it …’
Hervey shuddered. He’d seen men die in minutes for want of a tuppenny clamp.
Collins lay still, his eyes misted.
‘It’s bad,’ whispered Milne. ‘It’ll have to come off. Only way to get at the artery. He’s cut to the bone.’
The right arm.
An arm was an arm, but a sword arm …
Hervey grasped him by the shoulder. ‘All your skill and science, Milne. All of it. Save that arm.’
‘Colonel, it will need all my skill and more to save his life.’
Hervey blanched. ‘Then save his life first, Milne – and then the arm.’
fn1 ‘Not further beyond’, the supposed inscription on the Pillars of Hercules at the Straits of Gibraltar warning ships against passage west.
XXIII
UNDER AUTHORITY
Caserne de la Garde Civile, Brussels, 21 September 1830
Hervey put down the letter, shaking his head. ‘Thou art my battle axe and weapons of war: for with thee will I break in pieces the nations, and with thee will I destroy kingdoms.’
‘Joshua?’ asked Fairbrother, laying aside his book.
‘Jeremiah. None more apt.’
The day before, the separatists had disarmed the Garde Civile, stormed the Hôtel de Ville and declared a provisional government. Gone was the Committee of Public Safety – dread title, Jacobin (and soon there’d be a Robespierre, no doubt), yet a force for moderation nonetheless – and in its place a fierce tribe of Belgae who’d treat with The Hague as their forebears had with Rome. He could feel no great triumph.
‘Well, if the Kingdom of the Netherlands is to be destroyed, it will be on better terms for your address. Two troops of light dragoons, and Monsieur Talleyrand is confounded!’
‘If only Bylandt had shown more resolve, or perhaps I …’
Fairbrother shook his head. ‘A tide in the affairs of men, Hervey. Think not on it. The affair at the border was a far greater imperative. I don’t believe that even you know quite how brilliant an affair: you judged the place and the method to perfection. And I trust that Windsor shall hear of it.’
‘I trust that Windsor shall hear of Collins.’
Fairbrother sighed. ‘Nothing is ever without cost. You and I know that.’
‘I would not stand here now had he not been my coverman at Toulouse.’
‘I know it.’
‘Toulouse, and many a time before. But Toulouse especially – in the very last hours of the war, indeed.’
They’d just taken a battery, and a Frenchman had sprung from beneath a gun and thrust a spontoon in his thigh. Collins had leapt from his horse and launched so ferocious an assault that the man had no time to parry, and the sword cleaved his skull in two. Blood had bubbled like a spring for a full minute where he lay twitching.
If only he’d been able to do the same for Collins in that needless melee …
‘He was a man for whom duty was all,’ said Fairbrother consolingly. ‘It’s unwise, is it not, to count the cost too … particularly? Else we’d never hazard anything.’
Hervey nodded. Had it come to carbines they’d be counting a good deal more. ‘I must do all in my power to see him settled well.’
Fairbrother answered brightly. ‘Others have prospered with but a single arm; and he’s resourceful.’
‘Indeed.’
‘And no man lost his life.’
‘God be thanked.’
Fairbrother’s brow furrowed. ‘I think you yourself may take a little of the thanks too.’
Hervey inclined his head as if to acknowledge, for every man of the Sixth was saying the same, said Johnson.
‘And you have the acclamation of the ambassador. And I’ll warrant there’ll be a ribbon in it.’
‘You know, I trust, that I do nothing for acclamation and ribbons.’
‘Hervey, I was not with you at Toulouse or Waterloo, or any number of places you’ve drawn your sword – great’s the pity – but you will grant that we’ve seen some action together!’
Hervey conceded with a nod, but said nothing other than ‘Luck went with me.’ Anyway, it was time to be done with dark thoughts.
‘Who is the letter from? What exactly does it say?’ asked Fairbrother.
‘The secretary of the embassy. And it conveys in writing what he said in person yesterday – expressions of gratitude et cetera. And he attaches a copy of the ambassador’s last letter to London.’
He handed it to him:
From His Excellency Sir Charles Bagot, His Majesty’s Ambassador E
xtraordinary and Plenipotentiary at the Court of the Netherlands,
To The Rt. Hon. The Earl of Aberdeen, Sec. of State Foreign Dept.
The Hague, September 7, 1830
My Lord,
The Baron Verstolk has just read to me a despatch, which is forwarded this evening to Monsieur de Falck, and which will be equally addressed to-morrow to His Netherland Majesty’s Ministers at Vienna, St Petersburgh and Berlin, upon the subject of the modifications which it may become necessary to make in the Loi Fondamentale, under the project of a separate administration of the two great divisions of this kingdom, and of the manner in which such modifications may be thought to affect the objects and stipulations of the Powers, parties to the eight Articles of the Treaty of London.
This despatch directs M. de Falck, and the King’s Ministers at the above-mentioned Courts, to request, that in the event of discussions becoming necessary upon this latter point, instructions may be sent to me, and to the Austrian, Russian, and Prussian Ministers at The Hague, to enter into conference upon the subject, with the Plenipotentiary who may be appointed by His Netherland Majesty for that purpose.
I have the honour &c,
Charles Bagot.
Fairbrother gave it back with a look that said these were indeed momentous events.
But it hardly needed a letter – certainly not one written a fortnight ago – to tell them they were amidst history in the making. Or rather, had returned to the midst of history-making, for events had moved rapidly while they’d been out of the city. News of the riot the night of the opera had reached The Hague on the 27th, and the Prince of Orange, evidently, had urged the king to accept the resignation of the justice minister and to take a conciliatory stand with the southern provinces, but he’d refused flatly either to dismiss Van Maanen or treat with the rebels. However, he did give the prince permission to return to Brussels with a ‘mission of enquiry’, and agree to receive a deputation from Brussels, while ordering more troops south – and when the prince reached Vilvoorde, just outside the city, he sent an aide-de-camp to Baron D’Hoogvoort, the magistrate, one of the few men (in Hervey’s view) to be acting with both calmness and determination, to bring him to a conference there. But the news of the gathering troops whipped Brussels into a frenzy, and at the conference D’Hoogvoort urged the prince not to bring them to the city, for the separatists threatened to oppose them ‘à outrance’, to the limit, and to come instead with just his personal suite under his (D’Hoogvoort’s) own protection.
And, indeed, the prince did make his entry thus, on 1 September, the streets lined with the Garde Civile. As he had no authority to concede anything, however, after three days he returned to Vilvoorde. Meanwhile, the king had received the Brussels delegation at The Hague, but said he would not treat with any while a pistol was at his head. Instead he issued a proclamation, which no sooner was it posted on the walls in Brussels than it was torn down, and the unrest spread wide and fast thereafter. Five hundred armed men from Liège alone marched on the capital, and others from Louvain, Jemappes, and Wavre. And, like the fiends of legend rising from the nether regions, the miners of the Borinage en masse quit their world below ground to join them, so that Brussels filled with men as revolutionary as any Paris mob. Reform was then no longer the cry, only independence.
And so, last night, all order had been overthrown, and the provisional government proclaimed. It was well that the regiment was leaving.
‘I’m sorry we shan’t see what becomes of it all, though,’ said Fairbrother, jauntily. ‘I never saw a full-blown revolution before.’
Hervey shrugged. ‘You may stay if you wish. You are not under orders. For myself I believe we have done all we can here, and it’s better that we return to England as soon as may be. As soon as Ostend is able to arrange matters.’
‘And a “Protestant wind” if there’s no steam.’
Hervey smiled at last. ‘Indeed. But the wind always changes, if you have the patience.’
Fairbrother wondered, though, for there was more to it than a happy return. A fair wind would speed them to England, but his friend also to the emptiness of the matrimonial bed. He’d put his tribulations behind him when they’d crossed the Channel hither, yet once returned to England … Heaven send the prince a better companion.
He shut away the thought. ‘And you have the question of Mr Rennie’s successor decided, at least.’
Perhaps it was the talk of winds that made him tactless – ill ones that blew no good &c. He checked himself.
‘I meant no hurt. I know what a business it’s been.’
Hervey shook his head. ‘I’ve escaped the choice. I’d no right to.’
Fairbrother frowned. ‘Put it from your mind. Either man would have made an admirable sar’nt-major. And it doesn’t diminish Armstrong’s appointment, your not having made the choice.’
Hervey brightened somewhat. ‘I know it. You are quite right, as ever. Well, almost ever.’
‘I am at your service.’
Hervey knew him to be – and looked thoughtful again. ‘Tell me something; it has puzzled me. When I told you that Kennett had withdrawn his allegations against Collins, you showed no surprise.’
‘Why should it have been surprising? You told me General Gifford had offered him a captaincy.’
‘But I told you he’d withdrawn before I myself knew of the offer.’
Fairbrother looked faintly uncomfortable, if only momentarily. ‘I don’t recall.’
‘Mm. Ex Africa semper aliquid novi …’
He smiled. ‘I have left the Africans behind me.’
‘And they you?’
Fairbrother shrugged. ‘You mean “blood will out”?’
Now Hervey smiled. ‘I mean that I wondered if the ways of the Africans – the Royal Africans – commended themselves to colder climes.’
Fairbrother shook his head. ‘Thou speakest in riddles.’
‘Mm.’ But he was sure his meaning was clear nevertheless.
‘By the bye – and of this I’m certain – the exact quote from Pliny runs Semper aliquid novi Africam adferre. And it’s a Greek proverb he quotes.’fn1
‘Then I happily stand corrected, and will enquire no more.’ He leaned forward to take a look at his friend’s reading. ‘What is your book?’
‘It is called Pride and Prejudice.’
Hervey knew of it. Henrietta had once pressed it on him, though he’d never taken it up. ‘You’re still intent on closer acquaintance with society then?’
‘And on human nature.’
‘And you find it instructive?’
‘And entertaining.’
‘Are there military men in it? Does Miss Austen – it is Miss Austen, isn’t it? – draw them faithfully?’
‘Only Militia.’
‘Ah.’
‘But you would find it … Well, let us say there is much to recommend it.’ Though he doubted his friend would ever begin on such a book, and certainly never finish it.
There was a knock at the door, and Johnson came in.
‘Mr Lincoln’d like to ’ave a word, Colonel.’
Fairbrother rose. ‘I shall repair to my quarters. I think by now my baggage will have been brought from the Grande Place.’
Hervey nodded. ‘You will join us all at dinner, I trust.’
‘Thank you; I shall. But I would come with you first to see Collins.’
‘By all means.’
He left and the quartermaster came in.
‘I’m sorry to disturb you, Colonel, but word has just come from Ostend that the shipping is arranged for Friday – steamers. We can march out of here tomorrow. I’ve arranged to hand the barracks to the commandant at midday, though with things as they are I shan’t be surprised if I have to lock up and leave the keys at Ostend.’
Hervey raised an eyebrow. ‘Indeed. And Sar’nt-Major Collins?’
‘I’ve got him a dormeuse.’
‘Excellent. I’m about to go and see him. I think it best that he travels wi
th the colonel-in-chief’s guard after she takes leave of them tomorrow?’
‘That is the adjutant’s intention, Colonel.’
The princess and her suite were to set out at dawn. He would take his own leave when he saw Collins.
‘Very well.’
Lincoln hesitated.
‘Is there anything more?’
‘Colonel, I had intended waiting until we returned to Hounslow, but I believe it better to inform you now. I shall be sending in my papers presently. Mrs Lincoln and I are to purchase a small hotel at Brighton.’
Hervey was dumbstruck. Lincoln had been a part of the regiment since the day he’d joined. His attestation papers had long since been conveniently lost …
He rose and looked at him directly, hoping the curious anxiety that assailed him did not show. ‘Mr Lincoln, I’m truly sorry to hear this, although of course I sincerely wish you well at Brighton. Is there nothing I can say to change your mind? You are … so much the regiment.’
Lincoln shook his head. ‘No, Colonel, there’s nothing. My mind is quite made up. But thank you for the sentiment. It goes without saying, I hope, that I much regret I shall be leaving during your command, but I cannot stay at duty for ever, and it’s best that I go before my time than after it.’
Hervey smiled, and held out his hand. ‘Admirably put, Mr Lincoln. And I thank you for that sentiment too … Your establishment in Brighton will surely become the most comfortable and efficient on the south coast.’
The quartermaster allowed himself a rare smile by return. ‘Thank you, Colonel. And …’ (he cleared his throat) ‘if young Pearce is to make his way in the army, it’s better that his father-in-law is no longer a presence.’
‘I trust that is not a consideration in your decision.’
‘No, not a consideration – more a happy consequence. And he ought, in any case, to exchange into another regiment. It would be for the best.’
One in which his wife, for all her beauty and accomplishments, would not be known as the daughter of a quartermaster? Hervey shook his head, though he would not discuss it now. Lincoln had quite enough to concern himself with. ‘It may be as well, but these things need not be hurried. And we need have no farewells now. There’ll be time and place – mark my words!’
Words of Command (Hervey 12) (Matthew Hervey) Page 37
