Riflemen fired exuberantly as sipahis galloped past, like guns with driven game. Men and horses tumbled. Those that galloped on did so with no attempt to close up or rally, so that what should have been a charge by a wall of lancers became instead an affair of disunited spearmen. Whistles blew, and the daisy-chain lay prone.
And now the battalion companies proved their mettle – rolling musketry by platoons, an almost continuous show of flame and noise, and no little lead.
Losing all cohesion, the sipahis faltered, circled, turned and then spurred for home, barging back through the risen line of strelki with scarce an idea of the bullets now taking them in the flank once more. Here and there a bolder Turk took a rifleman on his lance, and one cluster was scattered by riderless horses that were too hemmed in to evade, but the daisy-chain held, turning check into rout by their fire, and the battery hastening them with shell.
But the Turks were not completely done. Their guns, the field of fire at last clear again, now answered – and this time with shell too.
They had the range at once: air-burst over the strelki line – a murdering hail of iron balls. A dozen men fell dead, and as many wounded.
‘That should not have happened,’ said Hervey, turning to look for the others in the melee of riflemen. ‘Agar, you are hit?’
Agar stood dazed-looking, as if a prize-fighter had struck him. Blood covered his left shoulder.
Corporal Acton saw, and put an arm round his waist. ‘Sit down, sir, please.’
Agar hardly needed the invitation, his legs giving way.
‘Deep breaths, sir. Just keep taking deep breaths.’ He took off Agar’s crossbelt and unfastened his tunic to examine the wound. It looked savage, but the blood was oozing not spurting. ‘No artery severed, sir.’
He took a lint dressing from his pocket and then a bandage to hold it in place – once round the chest and twice over the shoulder. Then he refastened the tunic, tight. And finally the crossbelt.
‘I’ll carry ’im rear, sir,’ he said, helping Agar up and then crouching to take him over his shoulder. ‘Wouldn’t want to wait for another o’ them charges.’
‘Good man,’ said Hervey, taking up Agar’s sabre and pistols.
‘They’re rallying!’ called Fairbrother, who had kept an eye on them throughout, not able to believe they could be quite as supine as in the affair of the Cossacks.
The whistle signalled retreat.
The Russian battery fired again, and moments later the Turk. Hervey felt shell-splinter nick his right ear. Fairbrother swore as a splinter struck his cartridge case and broke the fastening, so that his crossbelt fell apart. Another stung Acton’s elbow. He swore too but he wouldn’t quicken pace – not with a wounded cornet on his back.
‘Here they come,’ said Fairbrother.
‘Double time, Corp’ Acton!’ barked Hervey, seeing they could just make it rear. ‘Your life on it!’
XI
MAN OF LETTERS
Later
Hervey lay back in a wicker chair and closed his eyes, the exertions of the previous hours at last claiming their due. If they had been English cavalry, or French, he would not have lived to take his ease. He was certain of it. What had become of the wild Turk of legend? Three companies of muskets had driven the same number of cavalry from the field without even forming square. And the regiment, moral masters of the ground as much as by weight of fire, had been able to recover their dead and wounded.
But what had they gained for the price of half a company? Respite, certainly: the Turk guns had been silent since. Perhaps they had even thrown over a general attack; who knew? Colonel Vedeniapine was defiant. He had staked his claim on the ground before his regiment’s redoubt, and seen off the first challenge. He had fought the Turk in 1810, and he had no higher opinion of them now than he had had then; he was sure they would not chance against the Azov again.
Acton had been stalwart. He’d spared neither wind nor muscle bringing Agar in; only the greatest pride had been able to keep him on his feet when they’d gained the line of muskets.
‘That were a good surgeon, that Russian,’ said Johnson as he put down a tray of glasses. ‘’E knew ’ow to use them pincers all right. ’E ’ad that piece o’ shell out like lightning.’ Johnson had observed the work of surgeons often enough to know good practice when he saw it.
‘He was indeed,’ said Hervey, his eyes still closed. ‘They say he studied in Paris. Mr Agar is fortunate.’
‘’E’ll be right as rain in a week.’
‘I’m sure of it.’
‘An ’e wants t’bit o’ shell as a keepsake – to give ’is brother.’
‘Mm. I met his brother just before we sailed. Not, I fancy, a collector of warlike relics.’ Hervey did not suppose that George Agar-Ellis would hold him personally responsible for injury to his younger brother – and a fragment of shell was far removed from the condoling letter post mortem – but all the same he disliked mementoes of brushes with death. ‘Is Captain Fairbrother returned yet?’
‘No, sir.’
Fairbrother had gone to ask the Cossacks for the loan of horses the following morning, for Hervey wanted to see the videttes.
Johnson continued laying the table.
‘I have come to a decision, Johnson, but I would know your opinion of it.’
‘About what, sir?’
‘I intend taking command of Lord Hill’s regiment, the Fifty-third.’
Johnson had finished arranging the glass and china which the previous occupants of the billet had obligingly (or perhaps un-willingly) left. He picked up a fork and began polishing it. ‘Them as is in Gibraltar?’
Hervey’s eyes remained closed. ‘Just so.’
‘So all that wi’ them Azovs pleased thee, then, sir? Cap’n Fairbrother said it were like being a skittle at a fair.’
‘If it were, then the balls were singularly ill-aimed. The fact is, it would be an empty command at Hounslow, and I cannot be inactive – not when there is the prospect of activity elsewhere.’
‘And you’d allus be able to go back t’ regiment if they gets bigger.’
Hervey shook his head. ‘No. It would not serve. The die would be cast.’
Johnson polished a little more. ‘And Gibraltar’s in Spain?’
‘At the southern tip. Almost Africa. But ours, not Spanish.’
‘Will Lady ’Ervey like that, sir?’
Hervey opened one eye to check the expression on Johnson’s face (which was as before). ‘Mrs Hervey, confound it!’ He sighed. ‘No woman can be entirely content to leave her native shore, but I have every hope that Mrs Hervey will be content enough. See, can we return to the question?’
‘Tha didn’t ask me a question, sir.’
Hervey opened both eyes and sat up. ‘Perhaps I didn’t. My question is would you be content to come with me to Gibraltar?’
Johnson made a little ‘ha!’ of astonishment. ‘What choice do I ’ave, sir? I’m thy groom, an’ if tha goes to Gibraltar ah’ll ’ave to come wi’ thee.’
‘Charmingly put, Johnson, but in point of fact I cannot compel you to change regiments. It is against the terms of your enlistment.’
‘I didn’t know I ’ad any terms.’
‘Not many, it’s true,’ replied Hervey, with a smile. ‘But that’s one of them, since you enlisted before “General Service”.’
‘Why can’t I stay wi’ t’regiment and come to Gibraltar?’
‘It doesn’t work like that.’
‘I’d rather I didn’t ’ave a say then.’
‘Does that mean you are content?’
Johnson put down the fork. ‘Ay, sir. Gibraltar sounds all right.’
‘It would mean you would have to be corporal. It would not do for the commanding officer to be served by a private-man.’
Johnson screwed his face up. ‘Just as long as ah’d not ’ave to do duties.’
‘You would not. The RSM would not dare touch a hair of your head.’
‘Right
then.’
Hervey lay back and closed his eyes again. ‘It will give me the greatest satisfaction to know that, when I write the letter.’
‘An’ Captain Fairbrother’ll be coming?’
‘He will.’
‘An’ Sar’nt-Major Armstrong?’
‘That I can’t say. Or anyone else, for that matter.’
‘Well, as long as tha’s ’appy, sir, everyone else’ll be.’
‘I saw it all, Colonel Hervey, from the sloop. A gallant affair by the Azov, if ultimately to no advantage.’ General Wachten was just returned from the redoubts, and had bidden Hervey to the headquarters.
‘Not without moral effect, however, I should say, General.’
‘True. The Turk cavalry were lacking in all dash. I never witnessed anything so feeble. That must in no small part be on account of their rough handling by the Cossacks.’
The wild Turkish charge, the fear of centuries, seemed just that – a thing of the past. Hervey wondered if the whole army had become a slave to ‘progress’. Why did the sipahis now carry the lance when from time immemorial the scimitar had been the natural extension of the Turk hand? Why had they let the foreign officers of instruction make them ride long instead of with the traditional shovel stirrup? The descendants of Saladin might well bump along the parade ground prettily enough, but they appeared to have lost all quickness in the saddle. Was it the belief of the Mansure that observing the outward forms and details of European practice was the magic charm that ensured victory? Hervey was quite decided in his opinion if the experience of the past days was a faithful guide.
‘It is well that the Tsar has chosen to strike now,’ continued Wachten, ‘before the Sultan is able to make his army in our image – if such a thing is possible.’ He drained his glass of wine, which a servant at once replenished (and then Hervey’s), and unbuttoned his collar. ‘Your cornet is receiving all the assistance and comforts we can afford him, I am assured. I rely on you, Colonel, to tell me personally if there is any deficiency.’
‘You may rely on it, thank you, General; but the sisters have him excessively well disposed. Admirable women.’ Hervey took a sip of his claret, as if to indicate that he intended changing the subject. ‘You asked for my opinion of the defences, General. I have but two observations.’
‘Proceed.’
Hervey put down his glass and took out a notebook, though he had no need to consult it. ‘Both gunboats are well placed to sweep the approaches to the walls of the town, but neither of them could support the redoubts this afternoon, as I understood they were meant to be able to do.’
Wachten held up a hand. ‘I saw for myself. I have given orders for a second sloop to be moored to the east, broadside to them. It will take but a day or so.’
Hervey nodded. ‘My other is, I think, only fully observable from those very approaches – which occurred to me as we were making our way back to the redoubt this afternoon. If the western – ‘B’ – redoubt were under assault, it would be possible to assail the Turk in the flank from landwards with such surprise as I think might have decisive result. Nor need the attack be in great strength – the strelki’s effect was out of all proportion to their number. They could be embarked at the old battery here in the town and hauled by steam round the promontory without discovery and disembark south of the eastern redoubt. I think, from what I have observed so far, the sudden fire from so unexpected a quarter could only shock the Turk greatly, and at very little peril to the attacker since he would have the redoubt on which to fall back if events went ill for him.’
A smile crept across Wachten’s face. ‘A capital idea, Colonel Hervey – and one that has the merit of not requiring me to weaken the town’s defences at the outset. I shall instruct the colonels of the Pavlovsk and the Azov to make the arrangements forthwith. I chide myself at not having seen the possibility before.’
Hervey raised a hand. ‘With respect, General, when the enemy is at your heels, as he was today, possibilities suggest themselves!’
Wachten laughed. ‘You will dine with me, Colonel?’
Hervey shook his head. ‘The general is very kind, but if he will excuse me, I had intended dining with my captain so that we may speak of arrangements for the morning – and seeing my cornet again.’
‘Then you shall join me tomorrow night, and your captain. Colonel Vedeniapine will join us too. We shall make merry.’
‘I am honoured. I have a request meanwhile, General. I have letters for London, and I understand a frigate leaves for Kherson in the morning.’
Wachten nodded. ‘By all means. The letters may go with the Ordnance courier for St Petersburg.’
At their billet, Johnson was just beginning to grow anxious. He had acquired a goose, and roasted it a good while, with onions and rice. Fairbrother had been sitting for an hour with a bottle of burgundy sent by the Cossacks, eating cheese and reading Hazlitt’s Notes of a Journey through France and Italy.
Hervey returned looking preoccupied. ‘Forgive me, Fairbrother; Wachten was most insistent on every detail. He was just back from the trenches. And afterwards I went to the infirmary to see how was Agar.’
Before Fairbrother could make reply, Johnson exercised his right of regimental seniority. ‘Sir, yon goose’ll be like old boots, it’s been roasting so long. Sit down, sir, please – an’ Cap’n Fairbrother an’ all, sir. I’m bringin’ it now.’
Fairbrother would have said that it was not by his choice that he was not seated already, but thought better of it. Hervey simply took his place as bidden.
Johnson returned at once with a silver tray on which sat the deep-bronzed goose.
‘It has the appearance of perfection, Johnson. You excel yourself,’ said Hervey, keen to make amends.
‘Well, it would’ve been even more perfect ’alf an ’our ago. Anyway, there’s enough fat run off to keep us a month.’
‘And rice, it would appear,’ said Fairbrother, eyeing the white mountain which the Bulgar youth they had engaged was placing on the sideboard.
‘That’s because it all fell out o’ t’sack into t’copper, sir, an’ it were too ’ot to fish out.’
‘I did not mean to complain,’ replied Fairbrother, gravely. ‘I am excessively attached to rice – as much as I am excessively disobliged by potatoes.’
Johnson had started carving. ‘Just as well we’re off to Gibraltar, then, sir, an’ not I’land,’ he chuntered.
Fairbrother looked at Hervey. ‘Is this news?’
Hervey nodded. ‘I have reached a decision.’ But then he turned back to Johnson. ‘I don’t believe I have ever seen you carve goose before,’ he said, amiably. ‘You do it most deftly.’
‘When I were a bairn, one Christmas,’ (Johnson never needed much encouragement to revisit his origins, real or imagined), ‘I were let out t’union to ’elp at a big ’ouse in Sheffield – it were t’Master Cutler’s – an’ they ’ad a goose for all t’servants, an’ I watched ’em carve it, see. An’ I never forgot. We ’ad goose once or twice in Spain.’
‘I suppose we must have,’ said Hervey, a little ashamed at his vagueness in the matter. ‘Did you have some of the goose at the Master Cutler’s?’
‘I did. An’ it were t’last proper meat I ’ad for a month when I went back t’union next day. But that’s all done wi’ now. It were a long time ago.’ He finished carving and laid down the irons. ‘There y’are, sir. It’s not so dried up after all. And there’s them onions, an’ a bowl o’ gravy, and then jelly ’n’ oranges.’ He nodded to the sideboard.
‘And is there a second goose below stairs?’
Johnson smiled. ‘Corp’l Acton an’ me’s ’avin a puddin.’
‘Then if the pudding is not too much for you, take the legs.’
‘Oh, thank you very much, sir. Corp’l Acton were only just sayin’ ’e’d never ’ad goose afore.’
‘Remove the legs and leave us then, and take your ease. I’ll snuff the candles myself. Reveille the same time as this morning.’
‘Right, sir.’ He beckoned to the houseboy to come away. ‘I’ll send up some coffee a bit later.’
Hervey nodded, and Johnson closed the door.
‘You know, I really do believe he’s indispensable,’ said Hervey, and with no semblance of exaggeration. ‘I asked would he come with me to Gibraltar, and I could not say for certain what I should do if his answer had been “no”.’
Fairbrother was already helping himself at the sideboard. ‘I know what I would have counselled.’
Hervey joined him. ‘Indeed?’
‘That you withdraw your application for Gibraltar.’
Hervey said nothing at first, taking a spoon to the meat and rice, then sitting down and contemplating his friend. ‘What would your reason have been?’
‘Very simply that if Johnson judged that Gibraltar – or, more exactly, command of a battalion of infantry there – were inimical to your wellbeing, then every instinct of mine would tell me that it were so.’
Hervey smiled. ‘“He that troubleth his own house shall inherit the wind: and the fool shall be servant to the wise of heart”.’
Fairbrother took a large measure of wine to wash down his first taste of goose. ‘I say “Amen” to that. And also that this bird renders fine service too.’
‘It does indeed.’
‘A pity, therefore, that Agar shan’t taste it.’
Hervey hesitated a moment. ‘The exigencies of the service. He would not have had it otherwise.’
Fairbrother sat back. ‘You’re not inclined to see today’s action as beyond the call of duty then … beyond the requirements of neutrality indeed?’
Hervey looked thoughtful. ‘I concede it’s a moot point. But I don’t consider that any harm comes of it.’
Fairbrother held up his hands. ‘Nor am I your keeper.’
‘I did not believe for a moment you acted as one.’
‘Have you written to Princess Lieven?’
‘As a matter of fact I have decided to write this evening.’
Hervey 11 - On His Majesty's Service Page 17
