Major Lawrence’s office was like no other Hervey had seen. Whereas the Collector of Guntoor’s had the appearance of a donnish study, the superintendent of the Indian Department’s was both museum of curiosities and military headquarters. One long wall was covered in shields and arrows, and in glass-topped cases there were silver bracelets, amber necklaces and other finely worked pieces. On the wall behind his desk were feathered headdresses pinned flat. But on the other long wall were perhaps twenty maps rolled and tied, and on the table beneath, magnifying glasses, compasses, rulers and measuring sticks.
‘Coffee?’ asked the superintendent, taking an enamel pot from the top of the stove.
‘I thank you, yes,’ said Hervey, looking about the walls.
‘It’s not just decorative, either. Every feather has its meaning.’
‘And do you know of it?’
‘Most, yes. And my field officers know what I do not. A lot of it is bygone stuff even to the Indians, though. They’ve been expert shots with musket and rifle for many years now. I’ll tell you of the more extraordinary pieces another time, perhaps. I thought we might speak of your duties here. Your troop is to have the Niagara frontier, is it not?’
Hervey confirmed that it was so, although he had yet to have precise orders. General Rolt, the general officer commanding in Upper Canada, was still in Quebec meeting with the commander-in-chief. ‘And Lord Towcester has instructions not to embark on anything until his return.’
Lawrence nodded. ‘Though if I were you, I should want to have a look at the river itself soon. It’s the only place the Americans made any real showing in the war. Oh, they landed here in York and knocked the place about a good deal, but they didn’t reinforce the landing. It was a half-hearted affair. The point about the Niagara River frontier is that it’s a mere furlong and a bit across at its narrowest point. Have you studied the map, yet?’
‘No,’ admitted Hervey. ‘We’ve yet to see one of the frontier. All I have is a very general one – Melish’s Seat of War, which I was able to buy in but an hour in Quebec.’
‘A good start, though. It ought to give you a feeling for the size of the country.’ He pulled at one of the ribbons on his map wall, and down dropped an enlargement of the Melish print, with coloured hatchings and additions in his own hand. ‘I’ve marked the general areas in which are the predominant tribes or nations of Indians.’ He indicated these with a feathered arrow. ‘The Indians you will see west of York, towards the Niagara frontier, are those of the Six Nations. I admire them a great deal; theirs is a confederacy that’s endured for three hundred and fifty years.’
‘What’s the basis of their confederation?’ Hervey drew his chair up closer to the map.
‘The language family. They are able to make themselves understood to each other readily enough. You have heard of Hiawatha?’
Hervey had not. ‘Or else I forget.’
‘No matter. In the middle of the sixteenth century, as tradition has it, Hiawatha united five of the nations which lived in these northern parts – the Cayugas, Mohawks, Oneidas, Onondagas and Senecas.’ He pointed to north and south of Lake Ontario. ‘The Iroquois, they are usually known as. And later they admitted the Tuscarora tribe – of the same family, so to speak. The original league was called “the Great Peace”, but it was only a peace among the Iroquois themselves. To other nations they were immensely warlike. The Huron, the Erie and others – they had all but been destroyed by the seventeenhundreds, and the Iroquois spread west to the Illinois river.’
‘How did they stand with regard to us?’ asked Hervey, making notes.
‘That is of the essence. In the middle of the last century we encouraged them to raid the French settlements, and they were a not insignificant factor in the final defeat of Montcalm. When it came to the revolution in America, however, the league split. The Oneida and part of the Tuscarora supported the colonists, the rest threw in with us. The Mohawks fought especially hard. When the war was finished, the loyal tribes were given land about these parts, chiefly on the Grand River, here at the junction of Upper and Lower Canada. The others were treated ill, duped by the Americans into selling their land, or given poorer country in exchange further west.’
‘And so in the late war, I presume our Indians remained loyal?’
‘Indeed. And not only in the sense of not taking up arms against us, but of actually fighting for us. The Americans had continued to deal so ill with their Indians that we had capital support from tribes within the republic, too. The so-called backwoodsmen there murdered a great number of the Shawanese tribe and stole their land. The Shawanese had a very fine leader – Tecumseh: you have heard of him, perhaps?’
Again, Hervey had not.
‘Oh, a great man – a very great man. I do not think I ever met his equal even in a red coat. He led the best light infantry you would ever see.’
‘Shall I meet him?’
Major Lawrence smiled. ‘He lacked Christian baptism, so it is unlikely.’
‘Ah. And was he killed in battle?’
The major sighed. ‘There’s the rub with the Indians, for Tecumseh was killed fighting when those in red coats alongside him had taken to their heels. The same happened here at York, and worse at Niagara.’
‘This is the affair you spoke of last night?’
‘Yes, and it exercises me a great deal at present, for the scalplock of the chief who was killed at Niagara – at least, the Indians believe it to be his – was made a spectacle of only lately at Buffalo.’
Hervey peered at the map.
‘Here, across the river on Lake Erie – in the United States, that is.’
‘How did it happen?’
‘Our general – Riall – had taken a force with several hundred Indians of the Mississauga tribe across the river and captured Fort Niagara, and he was making his way to Buffalo when the Americans counter-attacked strongly. For some reason he’d conceived a mistrust of his Indians – perhaps because earlier they’d received emissaries from the nations fighting with the Americans. And when they promised they would stand he wouldn’t believe them, and gave way, so that the weight of attack was unevenly borne by them.’
‘And this scalplock was taken by the American Indians?’
‘It were better that it had been so, but the Mississaugas believe that one of the Kentucky riflemen took it – with his teeth.’
Hervey looked startled.
Lawrence smiled. ‘The Indians are commonly referred to as savages. But to my knowledge, they would only ever use a knife.’
Hervey smiled with him. ‘That is indeed a comfort to know.’
‘Well then, enough of these parlour stories for the time being. I have to say, though, the Kentucky men had their reasons, for they’d suffered many an outrage at home, though whose score on that account was the greatest is open to question. But I will own that the affair of the scalplock at Niagara is exercising me. The Mississaugas are not of the old confederacy, but if they’re unhappy with us then they might infect the Six Nations with their discontent.’
Hervey made more notes.
Lawrence refilled both coffee cups, and took up his pointer again. ‘Let us leave Indian affairs for the time being. Let us return to geography – the Niagara River. It is important you know its features . . .’
CHAPTER NINETEEN
TIME SPENT IN RECONNAISSANCE
Fort York, a week later
Hervey found the first week of their garrison uncommonly hard. Though the barracks in Fort York were well-found – they had been rebuilt only four years earlier, having been twice burned – the cold outdoors went ill with both officers and dragoons, and parades were few. The horse lines were improvised but ample, with bracken for bedding and good hay in fair quantities, and troop horse and charger alike had coats as thick as Hervey could remember since Corunna. After a few days, voyageurs of the Hudson’s Bay Company arrived with the regiment’s winter clothing: infantry greatcoats of grey Kersey, and the beef boots and fur caps which had b
een authorized for dismounted dress instead of the cloaks, hussar boots and shakos which scarcely kept even an active man warm. A brisk trade was done in extra fur, too.
Henrietta had remained indoors for the most part. Lady Sarah Maitland had begged her to come and lodge at Government House, but she had steadfastly insisted on remaining with her husband in their cramped quarters in the fort, though after only a few days, through the generosity of the lieutenant-governor’s lady, they were furnished very comfortably; so comfortably, in fact, that with their travelling service she was able to give two small dinner parties, and to receive Sarah Maitland daily in the morning or afternoon appropriately, and sometimes both. Even Ruth, Henrietta’s lady’s maid, complained only once in that time – when Private Johnson had left unguarded a pan of linseed on the kitchen range, and it had boiled over and run down the side and onto a pair of her mistress’s shoes which stood there drying.
More than once Hervey had watched his wife as she read or wrote or busied herself with some little detail of their domestic arrangements, and marvelled at her choosing to forgo the comfort of Manvers Priory for this. Had she known how difficult it would be? Would she now change her mind if it were possible? Never had he seen her look more contented, though. It humbled him indeed. And he envied her the apparent contentment, for although he had accepted the inevitable cure of the lance in respect of Lord Towcester – to puncture the impostor, and express all the malice – he had reached no conclusions as to when or how. In truth, though his mind told him the lance was inevitable, his every instinct recoiled from it still.
A few days after the voyageurs had come, and with General Rolt still in Quebec, Sir Peregrine Maitland suggested to Lord Towcester that a reconnaissance along the Niagara frontier might be made to advantage. ‘For I think it would be no bad thing to trail your red cloaks along the border and give something for the Americans across the river to observe.’
Lord Towcester agreed at once. It was unlikely of itself to secure him the Bath ribbon, which every Waterloo colonel was wearing, but it must be a beginning. And with but a single road, and guides, there could hardly be much opportunity of becoming lost, which had always been his anxiety on taking to the field before. Nevertheless, it took three full days of preparation by the adjutant before he felt himself ready to take the lead of the Niagara patrol – furnished, though it was, entirely by Hervey’s troop.
The distance from York to Fort George, where the Niagara River entered Lake Ontario, was eighty-five miles. A little over half of it would be done by way of Dundas Street, the military road which ran from the St Lawrence River just above Montreal, through York and on to London on the Thames River not far short of the Michigan border. At Burlington Bay, the westernmost point of Lake Ontario, they would leave the road and take a slower one along the south-west shore of the lake, crossing many streams, to the fort. It was, under clement conditions, with an overnight rest at the marching camp at Burlington, a journey of but two days, with a further day, then, to show along the Niagara River frontier to Fort Erie. Retracing their steps, it would be the same again home. A seven-day patrol with a day’s lairage was nothing exceptional by Peninsular standards, but although no snow had fallen for a week, it was colder than when they had arrived. Hervey’s principal concern was forage, and then their own rations. He had seen how fast a troop horse finished its hard feed in conditions like this (not quite like this, for the Astorgias had not been as cold, though they had been wet), and how a dragoon emptied his mess tin of beef and dumplings in half the usual time. He therefore decided on one bat-horse for every two troopers.
‘I will not have my regiment turned into a commissary train, Captain Hervey!’ Lord Towcester objected on being told of this.
To Hervey that chafed badly. If there were one thing of which he was certain it was the business of maintaining condition of men and horses in the field. It couldn’t be book-learnt, only bought by true experience. ‘Your lordship, I was thinking of unencumbering the troop horses, else they will look like—’
‘I will not be contradicted, Captain Hervey! General Maitland shall take the salute as the patrol leaves, and I intend its looking as crack as anything he ever saw at Waterloo. Do you understand, sir?’
Hervey did – all too well. But still there remained the question of feed and rations, for the quartermaster’s art was the one that permitted the least flight of fancy. ‘Your lordship, how therefore do you wish the victuals to be transported?’
Lord Towcester was in thrusting form. ‘If needs be we shall live off the land!’
If the lieutenant colonel had said he expected them to be provisioned on the march by ravens, like Elijah, Hervey could hardly have been more shocked. His silence was not apparent to Lord Towcester, however, who was attending instead to the guest list for the regiment’s first dinner in ten days’ time. But in Towcester’s vanity and inexperience, Hervey saw an opportunity to have his way, albeit deviously. ‘Your lordship, might I make a suggestion in order that General Maitland should see us at our best?’
Lord Towcester looked up. ‘By all means, Captain Hervey.’
‘If we send horses on ahead with winter stores and all the feed, we should then be able to parade in field dress and cloaks, without even a blanket roll on the saddles.’
Lord Towcester nodded. ‘I shall consider it, Captain Hervey.’
‘Ride in cloaks only?’ Serjeant Armstrong looked astonished.
‘That is what I said,’ Hervey told him. ‘We shall propel ourselves briskly, and it will keep the weight down.’
Armstrong looked unconvinced.
‘The first stage is a good road,’ Hervey continued. ‘We ought to make the marching camp in eight hours.’
‘Not on this snow we won’t. I rode out to the picket post this morning and it’s balling worse than I ever saw. We might as well take the shoes off.’
‘It would be tempting if we knew what the ground would be like at Niagara, but it might be rocklike.’
‘Well, if that’s the best you can do, sir—’
‘I fear it is. Now, do I need to remind you that this patrol is your chance to display to the lieutenant colonel?’
Armstrong nodded. ‘Ay. The last chance.’
‘Then who shall we place in charge of the bat-horses?’
‘Clarkson, I reckon.’
Hervey thought for a while. ‘Would you make Clarkson next for serjeant?’
‘In the troop? Yes. But given the choice I’d have Collins. Clarkson’s good, and he’ll be a bloody clewed-up serjeant-major in his turn. But Collins has got the stamp of a Lincoln.’
‘Do you think so? I’m not saying I don’t agree, but . . .’
‘That’s because Collins is the best corporal in the regiment, and because he seems every bit a corporal you wonder if he can be a serjeant. When he’s a serjeant it’ll be the same. I’ve always reckoned the best – NCOs and officers – strike you whatever rank they’re in. I never have understood the idea that someone could be a lousy troop man but a good RSM or colonel. More coffee?’
Hervey held out his tin cup, contemplating Armstrong’s proposition. If there were any other NCOs with such an opinion, he supposed they would never venture to give it. ‘You don’t believe that, because there are different qualities needed to be a troop man from those of the commissary, you could do one well and the other badly?’
‘I wasn’t saying that, sir. I don’t believe every good serjeant would make an RSM, or captain a colonel. But I do believe it goes the other way round. The best horses run well on any going.’
Hervey smiled at the imagery. ‘In principle I think you may be wrong. But I confess that in practice all I’ve ever seen says you’re right. I suspect Mr Lincoln was the finest of corporals.’
‘You can bet on it. I wish he’d come back soon.’
‘We all say amen to that.’
‘But I grant you Clarkson runs Collins close, sir. Are you to fill the vacancy, then?’
Hervey sighed. ‘It’s
unfair on Clarkson if I manage to get Collins back and promote him. It’s unfair, too, to try an exchange. They’re both drawing pay of serjeant, as I understand it, so I thought I’d let things run a bit longer to see what turned up.’
Armstrong smiled. ‘That’s what Major Edmonds would have done. “First whiff of black powder and all bets are off,” he always said.’
Hervey frowned. ‘That doesn’t say much for Clarkson’s chances then. There’ll be no black powder here. And, do you know, I shall be glad of it, and so should you be. Fatherhood’s not best an absentee state, I think.’
‘Bloody ’ell, sir. Who’s been telling you that?’
‘Nobody.’
‘You mean you thought of it yourself?’
Hervey raised his eyebrows.
‘Sir, I’d be thinking about half-pay if I were you!’
‘Oh, I don’t know. I saw a pretty sort of crib being knocked up yesterday in the serjeants’ lines.’
Armstrong made an unconvincing huffing sound as he left the troop office.
In the modest but comfortable Hervey quarters, Henrietta was being stoical – as was Caithlin Armstrong in that corner of the barracks that served as the Armstrongs’ quarters. This sort of thing – the Niagara patrol – was after all why the Sixth had come to the Canadas, although both wives had perhaps thought that winter quarters would allow them the months of their confinement united with their men.
‘The captain’s lady and Molly O’Grady!’ said Hervey, smiling proudly when Henrietta declared she was not in the least preoccupied by the prospect of his leaving her.
She looked at him, puzzled.
He frowned. It was easy to forget that it had been less than a year since she had been taken on strength, so to speak. Barrackroom wisdom took rather longer to acquire. ‘ “The captain’s lady and Molly O’Grady are sisters beneath the skin.” It’s one of the things the men say. Except they say the colonel’s lady.’
Henrietta did not tell him that a day had not passed without her imagining Princess Charlotte’s terrible trial – and fate – and without wondering why she, Lady Henrietta Hervey, should expect to be spared when a royal princess, attended by the foremost obstetrician of the land, had fared no better in her labour than a beast of the field. She wondered if she would bear it well when her own trial came. The newspapers had made much of the princess’s courage, of her bearing the agonies ‘with a Brunswick heart’. Not for Charlotte the laudanum’s ease. Did she have a heart as strong as a Brunswick? She feared not. Indeed, she knew it.
A Regimental Affair Page 31
