Hervey 08 - Company Of Spears

by Allan Mallinson

  Kat smiled too. ‘You can be really quite clever, Major Hervey.’

  He held the smile. He rather enjoyed being clever in Kat’s company.

  She had been turning something else over in her mind, however, and she now judged it the time. ‘Your going to the Cape Colony, Matthew: a year, you say?’

  ‘That is what Eyre Somervile proposes. But the Horse Guards will have to approve it first’ (he smiled again) ‘though Somervile thinks he can bend the commander-in-chief to his will.’

  ‘I think it a capital idea. I think being second horse to Hol’ness – though he’s a fine man, I know well enough – would be vexing for you in the extreme.’

  Hervey was surprised. He had considered this news to be as objectionable to her as the first, and when he had told her, at supper, she had seemed to confirm his fears. ‘You are very percipient, Kat. But I must say once more that this egg may miss the pudding just as did the first.’

  Kat said nothing. But she had no intention of letting this egg break other than to her lover’s advantage – and thereby to hers.

  Hervey was determined that in the business of the Cape – unlike the business of command – he would not waste a moment in advancing his cause. And an ideal opportunity had arisen that morning, for he had received a letter from General Tarleton asking him to call at the United Service Club, where Hervey’s newest supporter was staying for two nights on matters touching on his old regiment and the Horse Guards.

  It was, too, a most promising meeting. The general’s manner was cordial throughout, and when Hervey revealed his disappointment in failing to secure command, Tarleton commiserated with him in the strongest terms, saying that it was the fault of a dozen years’ peace: he would have him command his own regiment had it not been so disgracefully disbanded! Indeed, he explained, it was in connection with this very matter that he intended calling this day on the ‘new commander-in-chief’, the Duke of Wellington (whom he referred to throughout as ‘Wellesley’ in much the way that a colonel might refer to a favourite cornet), for was it not time to re-raise every regiment of light cavalry that had so usefully extended the Line, now that Ireland looked set for trouble once more and so many regiments of Foot were being sent to the colonies?

  Hervey had seen no immediate prospects for himself in such a petition – certainly not within a year at least – but he had recognized an opportunity to advance his ‘Africa suit’. He did not know quite how these things were arranged between senior officers – he did not need to, only that they were – but he believed that General Tarleton might prevail on the Horse Guards to assign the duty to him. Indeed, it was in all probability but a mere detail, to be attended to in passing; perhaps a matter for the staff only and not the duke.

  Tarleton had appeared delighted by the request. He thought it a capital idea that Hervey should have the Cape commission: he would be glad to recommend him to the duke, and gave his opinion in the most decided terms that the duke would at once concur. And Hervey had felt much relieved that his future lay in the hands of such an eminent soldier. He decided therefore not to call on Lord John Howard: that would be better left until the morning, after the general had visited. He returned instead to Hounslow, but with a vastly lighter heart than he had come up with the night before.

  XIII

  FRIENDS AT COURT

  Next morning

  Shortly after eleven o’clock Hervey was shown into a waiting room at the Horse Guards by a civilian clerk who eyed him as if he might be dangerous. He was puzzled: it was, after all, a perfectly routine visit – not even official, merely a call on the assistant quartermaster-general, Lieutenant-Colonel Lord John Howard. After not too long, however, his old friend appeared, with a man he did not recognize. Hervey, in a plain coat (he was visiting privately), rose.

  ‘Lord Hol’ness, may I present Major Hervey.’

  Hervey bowed.

  ‘Major Hervey, I am excessively glad to meet you at last,’ said Lord Holderness, with an easy smile and hand outstretched.

  Hervey observed a man perhaps five years his senior, a little shorter than he, with fine, almost pretty, features, black hair cut quite short, an active sort of frame, and wearing the undress of the 4th Dragoon Guards, in which regiment he had been senior major, though for the last two years he had been on half pay, attending to his estates in Yorkshire. ‘Good afternoon,Colonel.’

  ‘I wish I had known you were to come. I have to be back in the House, presently. I am here simply to pay my respects.’

  ‘And I to see my old friend, here. But this is very opportune nevertheless, Colonel. Might I take five minutes of your time? There are two things of some moment that would benefit from an early decision.’

  Lord Holderness looked at his watch. ‘If you press me, Major Hervey. They are not matters you are able to decide as acting in command?’

  ‘One of them is not; the other is the regimental colonel’s business, but he would expect your opinion.’

  ‘Very well, of course.’

  Hervey told him the circumstances of RSM Hairsine’s ‘field promotion’ and the vacancy occasioned by Captain Snagge’s sudden resignation, recommending that Lord George Irvine be advised to appoint Vanneck to the captaincy, and Hairsine to the consequent lieutenancy. Lord Holderness agreed that it seemed an admirable arrangement.

  ‘And then there is the appointment of a new regimental serjeant-major—’

  Lord Holderness held up a hand. ‘Ah, on that I may spare you the burden of decision. I shall want to bring in my own man.’

  Hervey was taken aback. The practice was not unknown, but there had never been an outsider, an ‘extract’, come to that appointment. ‘Colonel, with great respect, I would counsel against it. The senior troop serjeant-major is a most experienced and esteemed man.’

  Lord Holderness held his smile despite the unexpected and early questioning of his intentions. ‘I’m sure he is, Hervey. And he will have his turn, but I wish to bring my late serjeant-major with me.’

  Hervey saw there was nothing he might say now to have his new lieutenant-colonel change his mind. He did not know him: persistence might even prejudice his opinion for good. ‘Very well, Colonel.’

  ‘And now, Hervey, I really must get back to the House: the Corn-bill, or the Catholics; I don’t recall quite which.’

  ‘Of course. And you are to come to Hounslow…’

  Lord Holderness put on his forage cap. ‘Next month, early, the second week, perhaps. I shall much look forward to renewing our acquaintance, Major Hervey. Good-bye, sir.’ He held out a hand again.

  ‘Good-bye, Colonel.’

  ‘The devil of it!’ said Hervey, when Lord Holderness had gone. ‘Why must he bring his own man?’

  ‘You would do the same, no doubt,’ suggested Howard.

  Hervey sighed. ‘No doubt.’

  After a moment or two, Howard pulled the bell cord at the side of the chimney piece, and sat down. ‘Your coming this day is most apt. Will you tea?’

  Hervey nodded, as if resigned, and sat down. ‘Thank you.’

  A messenger came.

  ‘Would you have tea brought us, please, Rayner,’ asked Howard, with an agreeable nod.

  Hervey sat forward as the messenger left. ‘Howard, before anything, I would have you know my news, though it is as yet unannounced. I am to marry Lady Lankester.’

  ‘Hervey, my dear fellow! Congratulations! This is most unexpected, is it not?’

  ‘I did not expect a favourable reply from her so soon; that is sure. And when the arrangements are made, I would be very greatly obliged if you would be my supporter.’

  His friend nodded. ‘Of course, of course: a pleasure – an honour, indeed.’

  Hervey leaned back in his chair. ‘Now, why is my coming this morning so apt?’

  Howard likewise leaned back, as if he too wanted to distance himself from the frivolity of nuptials. He smiled again, as a man about to impart welcome news. ‘Two things. First, you shall have the Cape Colony commis
sion.’

  Hervey could not but reflect the smile, and he nodded his satisfaction. ‘I imagine I am obliged to General Tarleton in this.’

  Howard frowned. ‘General Tarleton? No, I fear not; not at all. He called on the duke, but the duke would not see him. It was all a most disagreeable affair. The general insisted, but Wellington would not have it. There were pressing affairs to attend to yesterday, but not so pressing as to refuse old Tarleton. I confess I felt exceedingly sorry for him. There’s clearly bad blood there.’

  ‘Then how was the decision come to, and so quick?’

  Howard raised an eyebrow. ‘You have other friends do you not?’

  ‘My dear fellow: forgive me; I hadn’t realized—’

  ‘Not I you dolt! The duke wouldn’t so much as allow me to move a sentry from here to Windsor!’

  ‘I don’t understand: Somervile? Irvine?’

  Howard shook his head. ‘Rather better looking than either of them – at least to the duke’s eye.’

  Hervey’s mouth fell open. ‘Good God! You don’t mean…?’

  ‘They rode in the park together yesterday afternoon.’

  Hervey shook his head despairingly.

  ‘The Military Secretary will sign the authority tomorrow. And by the way – fortune favours you indeed – a troop of cavalry is to reinforce the garrison at the Cape. General Bourke has asked for it most urgently, though the duke is of the opinion that it should remain for but a year. You may imagine the arguments as to who shall pay for it!’

  Hervey smiled ruefully. He imagined it all too well. Whitehall was a world he never wished to enter save occasionally to see his friend.

  ‘The quartermaster-general will instruct the London District to furnish the troop, so it shall certainly be the Sixth.’

  Hervey let his smile broaden. ‘That is very gratifying, as well as sound sense.’

  Howard nodded, but slowly, thoughtfully. ‘The other matter is perhaps less welcome to your ears – your report on the affair at Waltham Abbey.’

  Hervey sat up.

  ‘Your representation, rather I should say.’

  ‘Representation? Is it that? I was making no plea. Rather was I laying out the facts, as they appeared to me, of a decidedly strange run of events.’

  ‘Is that your business as a soldier?’

  Hervey’s eyes widened. ‘On becoming soldiers we have not ceased to be citizens.’

  Lord John Howard held up a hand. ‘Do not Cromwell me, Hervey! Or was that the wretched Lilburne? Be what may, I make no remark of my own.’

  Hervey suddenly understood.

  ‘If your report is to go to the Secretary at War then I am very much afraid you will be unable to take up the Cape commission.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Hervey, indignantly. ‘I shall be punished for laying out the facts?’

  Howard answered his old friend patiently. ‘No, not punished. Lord Palmerston would want to consider it with close attention. He might wish to question witnesses, order an inquiry. At the very least you would be required to give evidence. You could not do so from the Cape.’

  Hervey thought very carefully. ‘Do you say that I should withdraw my report? That the commission at the Cape is … contingent on my so withdrawing?’

  Lord John Howard looked grave. ‘My dear fellow, I am very much of the opinion that it is indeed so.’

  PART II

  THE TOUCH OF THE SPEAR

  Cape Colony

  XIV

  FIRST FOOTINGS

  Cape Town, 9 August 1827

  Teams of sweating Hottentots heaved on the ropes at the quayside, and one by one the horses of the 6th Light Dragoons were hoist from the Leviathan’s hold like so many jack-in-the-boxes. Out swung the booms, horse suspended mid-air in a canvas sling, yet calm as may be in its unaccustomed element, and then back edged the straining teams to lower the animal to the greeting hands of its dragoon and his corporal, and thence to join the growing circle of led horses stretching legs that for eight weeks and more had remained confined and idle. Besides the occasional whinny of delight from a trooper liberated from its Stygian stable, the only sounds were the barked commands of the NCOs and the unison grunting of the Hottentots. Hervey was pleased with what he saw. This was not a bustling harbour scene of the civilian kind, all last-minute coming and going, tearful embraces and lubberliness; here it was all good order and military discipline. Even the merchantman’s crew cut about like hands aboard a man o’ war, after two months at sea as fearful of Serjeant-major Armstrong’s tongue as was any dragoon.

  Hervey, impatient of the formality that acting command of the regiment had formerly imposed, made his excuses to Somervile standing beside him, got down from the saddle, gave the reins to Johnson and walked to the quayside. Dragoons braced or saluted as they saw him, the older ones hailing him by name, and he returned the greetings similarly, glad once again to be on the more familiar terms of troop rather than regiment, where he knew each man better than did his own mother, and in many cases loved them a good deal more.

  ‘Not at all in bad condition, Sam!’

  The veterinary surgeon turned, and smiled. ‘Colonel Hervey, good morning!’

  They shook hands. ‘A few of them tucked up, but not nearly as bad as I’ve seen. How was the passage?’

  Sam Kirwan gave him a favourable report. No voyage was ever without incident, however clement the weather, and the Leviathan had had its share of heavy seas. It was a springlike day at the Cape, bright sunshine and a gentle westerly, but Hervey had seen the South Atlantic five times in a dozen years, and perfectly understood the picture the veterinary surgeon painted.

  One of the led horses, a bay gelding, stopped and began to stale. An orderly ran up and interrupted the flow with a big enamel bowl.

  Hervey turned to Sam, quizzical.

  ‘I’ve been taking samples since embarking. I want to observe what changes there are.’

  Hervey nodded, pleased that the veterinarian was having his scientific satisfaction. ‘What orders have you given for shoeing?’

  ‘I understand it’s but a mile or so to the barracks, so they can be led, and the farriers can make a beginning tomorrow on the fitter ones. You don’t intend turning them away for a week or anything?’

  ‘Not unless you advise it, Sam. I’d rather they began light work as soon as possible, while the weather’s still mild.’

  ‘Just so. Ah, here’s Fearnley.’

  ‘Good morning, Colonel,’ said Hervey’s lieutenant, saluting formally. ‘And congratulations.’

  Fearnley’s boyish good looks and smile were a tonic, though tonic was scarcely needed; Hervey smiled by return and touched the peak of his forage cap. ‘Thank you, Mr Fearnley. I perceive the exercise of command has been efficacious.’

  ‘Yes, indeed, but never so easy.’

  Hervey could imagine it. What with Sam Kirwan and Serjeant-major Armstrong there could hardly have been a decision to make, but Lieutenant Conyngham Fearnley, nephew of Lord George Irvine, the same age as Hervey had been at Talavera and eager for his first action, had clearly relished the independence, with its ‘powers of detachment commander’ giving him the disciplinary authority of the lieutenant-colonel himself. Hervey had known he could rely on Fearnley to exercise those powers prudently. In any case he had spoken on the matter very carefully beforehand with Armstrong.

  Armstrong: there was rarely so ill a wind as did not blow some military good, Hervey had long concluded (exactly as his own disappointment in command gave way now to renewed appetite for sabre-work). If his troop serjeant-major was not to become the serjeant-major … well, there was the compensation now of having his old NCO-friend at his side once more. Rather, indeed, like the satisfaction of having Sam Kirwan with him. Sam’s announcement that he wished to leave the Sixth in order to study his veterinary science in a tropical clime had come at exactly the right moment: the Cape Colony was no Indian furnace, but it had its attractions in this respect.

  ‘Come and tell me of i
t,’ said Hervey, nodding to the veterinarian as they left him to his samples.

  Lieutenant Fearnley gave a full and enthusiastic account, as favourable and encouraging a report as Sam Kirwan’s had been – yet with detail that Sam had modestly omitted.

  ‘And Sarn’t-major Armstrong?’ asked Hervey, as a matter of form rather than true enquiry.

  Fearnley halted in his stride. ‘You know, Hervey, in all truth I would count myself worthy if I thought I were but half the man that he is.’

  Hervey turned to his lieutenant. Some things could still take him by surprise, not least the humility of a subaltern officer who otherwise and in the best sense had all the appearance of effortless superiority. He put a hand to his shoulder. ‘If you are capable of thinking that, you are on the right road at least. Now, tell me of Cornet Beauchamp. He looked likely, from the little I was able to see of him…’

  With both eyes fixed on the looming presence of Table Mountain beyond the castle, Hervey swung his left leg forward so that the knee was almost crooked over the saddle holster, and reached down to loosen the girth strap. He reckoned he had done well to bring Eli with him rather than leave her to come with the rest of the troop on the Leviathan. Eli – Eliab – was Jessye’s foal, now rising nine years, fifteen hands three, a handy charger with all her dam’s sturdiness, and a fair bit of bone, her Welsh Mountain blood evidently still strong although but a quarter. Eli was ‘a good doer’ as the saying went – she did not lose condition too quickly on changed or reduced rations. She had had a good passage, too. The steamer Enterprise had brought them from the Thames to Cape Town in fifty-four days, the fastest passage Hervey had ever made over such a distance, whereas Leviathan, all sail, had set out a week before her and had arrived this morning a fortnight after. Hervey had therefore been able to ride Eli to the quayside with the lieutenant-governor to watch them disembark, with his mare looking every inch as if she had been at the Cape for a whole season.