Company Of Spears mh-8

by Allan Mallinson

  Hervey noted the detail on his map, though not without some perplexity. ‘I take it the second company will complete the circle, so to speak. But why are you posted so far from any of the buildings?’

  The captain explained that such was the fear of causing explosion, no one with firearms was permitted within a hundred yards of any building.

  Hervey knew well enough they sat atop a powder keg but he had rather supposed the intruders posed the greater risk of an errant spark. ‘Very well,’ he replied, a shade wearily. ‘I’ve yet to receive my orders, but I fancy they’ll be to patrol the road north of here, though I could do that well enough with a quarter of the men. Do you have a parole?’

  ‘Shorncliffe.’

  Hervey nodded. ‘The same for both companies?’

  ‘Ay. And yours?’

  ‘We shall take “Shorncliffe” too. But I fancy, since we’re hardly likely to meet Slattery’s Dragoons, four legs should be a faithful enough sign. I shall now go to see your colonel. I’ll see you again soon after dark, no doubt.’

  The captain returned the wry smile. ‘Join us for dinner if the colonel doesn’t insist on your dining with him.’

  Hervey touched his hat. He had always liked the way of the Rifles. ‘With great pleasure.’

  By the time Hervey got back to the Four Swans, the deputy quartermaster-general had arrived.

  ‘Good evening, Colonel,’ he said, dismounting and saluting. ‘Major Hervey, commanding the Light Dragoons.’

  Colonel Denroche remembered, and touched the tip of his bicorn.

  ‘I have explored the mills and met Colonel Agar,’ Hervey began, briskly. ‘He’s much agitated by the restrictions placed on his riflemen – not to approach within a hundred yards of any building. We’ve agreed that I should picket the road north of the Thorogood Sluice, the first inlet to the canal’ (he pointed to the place on his map) ‘and keep a reserve of dragoons to sweep the common land between the Lea and the canal in case anyone gets across the water.’

  Colonel Denroche nodded.

  Nasmyth stepped forward. ‘Your exploration, Major Hervey: you did not go north of the Thorogood Sluice?’

  Hervey was angering, but he spoke calmly. ‘As it happens, I did not. Is there any reason I should not have done so?’

  ‘Only that I have told my own men that no one would venture beyond there in daylight.’

  ‘Your own men?’

  Colonel Denroche held up a hand. ‘I think we need not go into the details. Is your troop ready, Major Hervey?’

  ‘It is, Colonel, but as yet they have no orders.’

  Colonel Denroche narrowed his eyes. ‘I know that, Hervey. Since I have not given you orders you cannot have given them any. Do not be truculent, sir.’

  Hervey would not kick at pricks. He already sensed the night’s work would be vexing enough. ‘We stand ready, Colonel.’

  ‘How many men can you dispose?’

  ‘Just short of one hundred.’

  ‘Very well. When it is quite dark you will take them into Waltham Abbey and await further orders. Muster in Bridge-street, which is perfectly suited. In the event of an attack, which the Rifles are well posted to repel, you will be called up the Powdermill-lane to pursue any who flee, and thereafter to patrol the environs to reassure the townsfolk and the mill workers.’

  Hervey, incredulous, sought to clarify the otherwise straightforward instruction. ‘You do not want me to picket the sluice or place men on the common?’ With so inactive a task, he wondered why he might not have had his orders from Major Dalrymple while it was full light.

  ‘I do not believe that will be necessary. The Sixtieth have a close garrison.’

  ‘The mills and the storage sheds, Colonel: who shall guard those in the event that anyone is able to slip by the Sixtieth?’

  ‘I do not see how that could come about, unless by an amphibium.’

  ‘A rowing boat is not beyond question, surely?’

  Colonel Denroche was becoming irritated. ‘Major Hervey, your thoroughness does you credit, but we are dealing with a band of Irish navigators, not His Majesty’s forces. Besides, the mill watch will be attending to that.’

  Hervey resolved to stand rebuked, seeing no prospect of persuading the deputy quartermaster-general to address the concern. ‘One further question, Colonel. Mr Nasmyth’s men – how shall they make themselves known if needs be?’

  Nasmyth answered before the colonel was able to. ‘You need have no worry on that account, Major Hervey.’

  Hervey bridled. ‘I am not mint-new, sir. I have seen affairs enough to know that what may go wrong usually does, and I neither want to shoot your men nor have them shoot mine!’

  ‘Gentlemen!’ snapped Colonel Denroche. ‘There’s no time for bickering. Major Hervey, just make sure your men stay south of the sluice; and Mr Nasmyth, keep your men well to the north of it!’

  The first shot came just after midnight. Hervey, dozing on a straw bale in the Sixtieth’s headquarters (the mill stables) woke at once and sprang up, fastening on his sword belt and reaching for his shako.

  ‘Stand to horses!’ he called to his trumpeter.

  In an instant Corporal Parry was outside and blowing the triplets. They carried easily the hundred yards to Bridge Street where the dragoons waited. Keen anticipation of a chase thrilled through the ranks like a flame along a trail of powder.

  Colonel Denroche had also posted himself at the stables. Hervey asked if he should bring up the squadron.

  There had now been two dozen shots. Colonel Denroche checked his watch, and nodded.

  ‘“Forward”, please, C’Parry,’ called Hervey as he went with the colonel into the yard.

  Private Johnson was already standing with Gilbert’s reins. Hervey mounted at once without checking the girth. Long years told him it was unnecessary – no matter what Johnson’s misdemeanours.

  Corporal Wainwright, his coverman, was already in the saddle; the RSM too. Hervey hoped Colonel Denroche was noting the address with which the Sixth stood to arms.

  The firing was now brisk. Even the Sixtieth’s commanding officer looked surprised. ‘Not all Baker rifles, not by any means,’ he muttered darkly.

  Since there were no other firearms north of Bridge Street it could mean but one thing: the intruders were indeed well armed. Better armed than expected. ‘Leave to take the squadron forward, Colonel?’

  Colonel Denroche glanced at Nasmyth, who nodded. ‘Very well.’

  Hervey saluted and turned for the Powdermill Lane. ‘Mr Hairsine, you and I shall ride for the Sixtieth’s picket at the sluice. Corporal Parry, my compliments to Captain Worsley, and would he please bring up the squadron and wait by the old turnpike house. And no lights.’

  ‘Sir.’

  He put Gilbert into a trot.

  The firing continued, sporadic now but still determined. He knew there must be riflemen in the shadows, but no challenge came until they got to the bend in the river where the corporal had checked him the evening before. A lantern swinging side to side brought them to a halt.

  ‘Parole!’

  ‘Shorncliffe,’ replied Hervey, as quietly as he dare.

  ‘Advance, friend!’

  ‘Major Hervey, Sixth Light Dragoons.’ He saw a serjeant’s stripes. ‘My squadron will be up in a few minutes. Have you seen anything?’

  ‘Not a thing, sir.’

  A scuffing on the road made the serjeant swing round. ‘Halt! Who goes there?’

  There were plaintive voices: ‘Please, sir, just us.’

  Two riflemen stepped from the bushes to take aim at the unknown shapes.

  ‘Who’s “us”?’ demanded the serjeant gruffly.

  ‘Sethy Wilks and Jack Cranch, sir. We was just doin a bit o’ rabbitin’ on the common … as we’ve rights to.’

  ‘Raise your hands above your head, and step forward!’

  The two shuffled into the pool of light. Hervey waited to hear them.

  ‘Where’re you from?’ the serj
eant barked, as if he were rousting recruits.

  ‘The town, sir. We both of us work in the mills.’

  ‘Have you seen anything?’

  ‘No, sir. We just ‘eard all the firin’ and thought as how we’d better leave everythin’.’

  Hervey saw they were of no help to him, except by way of negative intelligence – and the realization that commoners’ rights might make the affair more hazardous than he had supposed. ‘I think you might detain them, Serjeant, until it’s all over.’

  ‘Ay, sir.’

  He kicked on.

  The firing quickened again as they came up to the company post. A sentry challenged them thirty yards short of the sluice.

  Hervey gave the parole, dismounted and handed the reins to Johnson, then made his way to where he had last seen Number One Company commander.

  The mill was still lit, and from the hatch-doorway at the top riflemen were firing – deliberate, careful aimed fire. He pushed open the door at the rear.

  ‘Major Hervey!’ The company commander was deftly reloading a pistol, but otherwise he looked as if he were at a drawing room.

  ‘Captain Hallam. You are attacked?’

  ‘If you could call it that. I was doing my rounds when half a dozen ruffians came along the road. The sentries told them to halt and the beggars opened fire at once. We’ve been returning fire since, but largely, I think, speculative. I estimate three dozen shots at us at least.’

  ‘Are they still keeping up the fire? The intruders, I mean.’

  ‘I’ve seen no muzzle flash for several minutes.’

  Prudence suggested he wait a little longer, but Hervey was keen to follow up fast if the intruders had fled. ‘You don’t think it any sort of diversion – others slipping past while they fired on you?’

  ‘I’m certain there’s no one on the road or tow-path that came through us.’

  ‘Very well. We’ll go forward as soon as you order ceasefire.’ He turned to the RSM. ‘Mr Hairsine, bring them up, if you will.’

  The RSM moved sharply.

  ‘And F Troop to light torches,’ Hervey called after him.

  ‘Sir!’

  Hervey took out his map. ‘What do you make of it, Hallam? Why begin firing like that?’

  Captain Hallam shook his head. ‘I’ve been thinking the same myself. It’s a deuced mazey thing. They even managed to shoot two of their own.’

  Hervey’s ears pricked. ‘Indeed? Have you got them? Do they have any papers?’

  ‘Just pay books. The beggars reek of beer and whisky, though.’

  ‘No doubt. Dutch courage. Did they have firearms?’

  ‘No. And I meant they’re so soused I’m amazed they could stand.’

  Hervey shook his head and began examining the map, intent on discovering what they might have overlooked.

  But soon the squadron came jingling up, hooves thudding rather than clattering, the road no longer metalled, a green lane.

  He folded his map quickly and made for the door. ‘Cease firing?’

  Number One Company Commander nodded.

  Outside, he began blinking to recover his night eyes, trying his best to look away from the torches – one to every three dragoons.

  ‘Here, sir!’ called Johnson, standing fast where Hervey had dismounted.

  He couldn’t complain, but six months ago Johnson would have brought Gilbert up as soon as he heard the firing slacken. He wondered how long it would be before he recovered that assurance – if at all. ‘Have you the torch?’

  ‘Sir. Do you want me to light it, sir?’

  Hervey blinked again, this time at the alien formality. ‘No, not yet,’ he said, taking the reins and remounting. ‘Captain Worsley!’

  ‘Here, Hervey.’

  The voice was closer than he’d expected. He wished the lanterns in the mill had not been so bright; his night eyes were quite gone. ‘There may be two dozen of them. They’ve firearms; how many, I don’t know. They had a bit of a skirmish with the picket, but it looks as though they’ve fallen back. Send an officer and thirty along the sluice, the other side of it, for about three hundred yards until it bends like a hairpin, and then picket the hundred yards or so between there and the bridge on the canal to make sure they can’t get any further south – or get back north, for that matter. See to it as well that the lock north of the hairpin’s picketed. And keep torches well lit so we all know who’s where.’

  F Troop Leader turned in the saddle. ‘Mr Thoyts!’

  Hervey waited until Worsley had given his orders, then told him his own intention. ‘You’ll recall the map: from here on the Lea and the canal converge for about half a mile, and then there’s a fifty-yard cut which practically joins them, albeit a narrow one. There’s no bridge over the Lea, so if Thoyts stands on the canal they can’t get across there either. We may just have them in the neck of a bottle. We’ll ride straight for the cut now and then beat back towards Thoyts if there’s no sign of them. Torches rear for the time being. Let’s use the moon while we can.’

  Captain Worsley touched his shako.

  Although he had not seen the ground north of the sluice, Hervey said he would lead. He had had the most time to imprint the map on his mind, and although by simply following the river any dragoon could have found the cut, he judged that he could lead them there quicker by swinging north-west across the common.

  Mr Hairsine had objections, however. ‘Proper drill, sir, with respect! Best have scouts out.’

  Hervey hesitated: the RSM was right, but every second counted.

  ‘I’ll scout with Lightowler, sir,’ said Hairsine by way of deciding it.

  ‘Very well, Sarn’t-major. Head north-west for half a mile; if you run onto the canal then just follow it right.’

  ‘Sir.’ The RSM saluted, and nodded to his groom. ‘Come on, Lightowler.’

  They set off at a measured trot. It was moonlight to see well enough, and the treeless, marshy common ahead could hold few surprises. Hervey let them get a good fifty yards before signalling the rest of the troop to follow.

  It took but five minutes to close to the cut, with not a sign of life other than protesting waterfowl. Hervey could see, too, that Cornet Thoyts’s party had made equally rapid progress, the torches now halted in a line, and four more where he supposed the canal lock must be. If there were fugitives on the common they were as good as in the bag. ‘Well done, Thoyts,’ he muttered.

  A sudden and violent fusillade brought him up short. He held up his hand and reined sharp to a halt. He couldn’t work out from which side of the river, or even the canal, the firing came, for the two narrowed to a point at the cut. He took out his telescope. It revealed only that the RSM and Lightowler had dismounted. There were more shots – the muzzle flashes two hundred yards off at least. Not worth returning fire with carbines at that range. He had but one decision: dismount or not.

  ‘Front form line!’

  NCOs shouted the order the length of the column as Corporal Parry blew the repeated Gs.

  Hervey supposed they had a frontage of two hundred yards at most, and narrowing. They would be tight packed, even with the torch men in the second line. But the NCOs would manage it somehow. ‘Draw swords!’

  Out rasped fifty blades.

  ‘Forward!’ He would keep them at the walk – all the better to hear the next words of command.

  The moon disappeared behind a cloud as they swept the ground. Hervey cursed: the smiles of harlots! But the firing soon stopped.

  They bumped, stumbled and barged on for a minute and more.

  ‘Sir!’ came a dragoon’s voice, urgent.

  Hervey looked right.

  ‘Sir, it’s Lightowler. I think ’e’s dead, sir.’

  He cursed again. F Troop could take care of Private Lightowler. Where was the RSM?

  They found him twenty yards on, not a stone’s throw from the cut. It was still near pitch dark, for the torches served more to light up the line than the way ahead. Hervey jumped from the saddle.
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  The RSM lay clutching his left shoulder. ‘Other side of the cut they were, sir. Lightowler took a ball in the throat.’ The voice was as determined as ever but a deal weaker.

  ‘Johnson!’ shouted Hervey. Johnson was no surgeon’s mate, but he knew how to staunch and dress. ‘Did you see how many, Sarn’t-major?’

  ‘Ay, sir, I did: quite a little knot of ’em – a dozen and more, and at least half a dozen shooters.’

  Hervey angered. He clasped the RSM’s right arm, then when Johnson came he sprang up and back into the saddle. ‘Forward!’

  The clouds parted suddenly and the moon lit their front like a stage at curtain-up. Another ragged fusillade crackled directly ahead.

  Hervey saw his quarry. ‘Charge!’

  The canal cut was but a hunting challenge to any half-decent equestrian, especially now the blood was up. The squadron leapt, scrambled and tumbled across it. Sabres sliced left and right. There were screams, oaths and imprecations for a full five minutes until every dragoon had satisfied himself there was not a living thing on the marsh but in blue.

  ‘Rally! Rally!’ croaked Hervey.

  Corporal Parry blew as well as he could, but he too had swung his sabre the while.

  ‘Captain Worsley!’

  ‘Think ‘e’s fallen, sir,’ came a voice Hervey recognized. ‘Sarn’t-major Collins?’

  ‘Ay, sir!’

  ‘Hand over all your torches to E, then get your troop in hand fifty yards back and wait my orders!’

  ‘Sir!’

  ‘Sarn’t-major Armstrong!’

  ‘Sir!’

  ‘I want every body and weapon recovered. Every last one. Get as many torches as you can forward.’

  ‘Sir!’

  ‘Hervey?’ came his lieutenant’s voice, breathless.

  ‘Mr Fearnley, this is the rummest thing. Those wretches had no more idea of driving home an attack than a bunch of Methodists. I can’t think what in hell’s name they were about. Take a dozen men and see what you find yonder.’ He pointed in the direction the wretches must have come. ‘Horses, boats, waggons – anything. Half a mile, no more.’