Hervey 08 - Company Of Spears

by Allan Mallinson

  Hervey was very content to take tea: the fire was drying him well enough, but he felt the need of something warming to the inner parts.

  When the housekeeper returned, with a silver teapot, and blue china which looked as if it had come from the East, Hervey asked if she knew whether Master Fairbrother had any engagements in the coming weeks, to which she replied that as far as she knew there was nothing to detain him in Cape Town or elsewhere, explaining that he was engaged only infrequently in business, and that he spent his time with his books. Hervey was appreciative of her candour, and intrigued by the suggestion of a bookish disposition.

  After five more minutes the half-pay lieutenant appeared, in a long silk dressing gown over day clothes, and perfectly shaved. Edward Fairbrother was a man of about Hervey’s own height and not many years his junior. He had large brown eyes, thick black hair and noble cheekbones. Hervey rose, and in evident surprise.

  ‘Mislike me not for my complexion, Colonel Hervey,’ said Fairbrother, with a look almost haughty.

  Hervey was no little discomfited. In India he had had so many native friends (and a lover) that a brown complexion had been nothing more to him than the clothes a man chose to wear. ‘I beg your pardon, Mr Fairbrother,’ he near stammered. ‘I had not thought—’

  ‘I take no offence, Colonel. It is of no consequence, and your surprise is hardly a thing of novelty.’

  Hervey was uncertain on the first two assertions. Quite plainly it was something to which Fairbrother was sensible. Even in a corps so far removed from the regular order of battle as the Royal Africans a skin the colour of coffee, albeit with a good splashing of cream, would tell against a man. ‘You speak Xhosa, Mr Fairbrother, as I’m given to understand,’ he tried briskly. ‘How did you acquire it?’

  Fairbrother now looked positively disdainful. ‘ “I am as free as nature first made man, Ere the base laws of servitude began, When wild in woods the noble savage ran.”‘

  Hervey sighed, and held out a hand, wondering if the bookish disposition was entirely favourable. ‘Let us begin anew, if we may. Hervey, lieutenant-colonel-commandant of the Cape Mounted Rifles.’

  Fairbrother took the hand, and smiled, conciliatory. ‘Edward Fairbrother, late of His Majesty’s Royal African Corps, and before that ensign, Jamaica Militia.’

  Hervey now supposed he had a better understanding of Fairbrother’s circumstances: a planter’s family, English, with that admixture of the native blood which over long centuries shaded the complexions of many a good family there (or so Peto had once informed him, for he himself had never been to the West Indies).

  ‘Well, Mr Fairbrother, I am much obliged to you. I have come to ask if you would be so good as to accompany me to the eastern frontier. I am to make a reconnaissance, and I should be grateful for the company of guide and interpreter.’

  Fairbrother said nothing by reply, turning instead to his housekeeper. ‘Mama Anky, would you bring me tea if you please.’

  He sat down and crossed his legs, a gesture of independence that Hervey could not fail to observe.

  ‘Colonel Hervey, I am a man of some affairs in Cape Town’ (Hervey would learn that he imported rum from his father’s estate) ‘and I am not obliged to be at the governor’s call.’

  Hervey at once had to check himself. In law Lieutenant Edward Fairbrother was most certainly at the governor’s call – the governor, the King’s person. ‘There is no question of obliging you, Mr Fairbrother. That is precisely why I came in person: to ask you. And as to any business interests, you may be assured that you would be properly compensated.’

  Mama Anky brought tea. Fairbrother took his time pouring it, not appearing to be contemplating Hervey’s proposition in the least. ‘Colonel Hervey, when Lord Somerset – I should say Lord Charles Somerset – was governor, there were frequent opportunities for inter-course, but his lordship not once deigned to ask me to the castle, though he knew full well enough of my capabilities.’

  Hervey sighed, though inwardly. He had no recommendation of Fairbrother other than that he spoke the language of the tribes on the Fish River frontier. This resentment of his would be altogether too tedious in but a few days’ marching. ‘I cannot imagine that Lord Charles Somerset would intend any slight on an officer who had served his king as you had.’

  Fairbrother smiled pityingly and raised an eyebrow. ‘Do you know the family?’

  Hervey was beginning to object to the tone. He fancied he never stood on his rank, but lieutenant-colonel, even by brevet, required some respect; Fairbrother had an arrogant presumption … ‘I had but a brief acquaintance with his younger brother, Lord FitzRoy – at Waterloo.’

  Fairbrother at once sat up on the mention of Waterloo. He uncrossed his legs, turned his eyes to the teapot and occupied himself in replenishing his merely half-empty cup by way of allowing himself to begin anew. ‘A very noble and gallant man, Lord FitzRoy, by all accounts. Were you there when he lost his arm?’

  An understanding of the battle of Waterloo: Hervey was indeed obliged. He intended to press to advantage this unexpected turn. ‘I rather think that at the moment Lord FitzRoy was hit there was so much smoke I could scarcely see the man next to me.’

  The half-pay lieutenant’s whole demeanour was now changed. He asked several more questions about the battle, most of which Hervey was able to answer, though not all by his own exact experience. As he explained, the battle was of a scale he could barely contemplate still; quite unlike any of those in the Peninsula – not Corunna, not Talavera, nor Salamanca nor even Vitoria.

  At length Fairbrother smiled – a warm, conceding smile which Hervey found himself returning willingly, and thankfully.

  ‘I believe I might arrange for you to be restored to the Active List, if that is what you wished. There are supernumerary posts in the Rifles.’

  But Fairbrother shook his head, though still smiling. ‘No, Colonel Hervey, I should not wish to be so restored. There is, I am afraid to tell you, an impediment – Lord Charles Somerset’s son, whom his father promoted shamelessly during his time here. I do not care for his manners, nor much for his fashion of soldiery. I could not serve in a corps with such a man; and certainly not when he were my superior.’

  Hervey now found himself saying what he would otherwise have regarded as improper. His instincts were ever for the correct practice of good order and military discipline (though he had rarely flinched, certainly of late, from respectfully speaking his mind), but he saw no reason to let that stand in the way of what seemed necessary for the execution of the King’s business. ‘Mr Fairbrother, between these four walls, I believe we may share the same opinion of Colonel Somerset. But it is I who have command of the Mounted Rifles, and I enjoy the confidence of the lieutenant-governor. You would need have no concerns on that account.’

  Fairbrother said nothing, nodding slowly instead as if weighing Hervey’s words. Then he rose and went to a writing desk and opened a drawer. ‘See here,’ he said, holding out in turn two miniatures. ‘My father.’

  Hervey saw a fine-looking man, as fine – and as white – as any he might see in the United Service Club.

  ‘My mother.’

  Hervey could not entirely hide his surprise. The likeness was of a black woman, unquestionably a pleasing-looking woman, though frankly no more than pleasing. ‘I … I am not at all clear what is your purpose in this.’

  ‘You might wish to ask yourself, Colonel Hervey, whether I am my father’s son or my mother’s.’

  Hervey no longer concealed his surprise. ‘You are both, I should imagine! Why should it be of any concern to me?’

  Fairbrother took back the miniatures and replaced them in the writing desk, as if drawing a veil over his vexing provenance. ‘You may not be certain of my ultimate loyalties. Colonel Somerset for one would doubt what would be my true feelings towards the Xhosa, cousins of my mother’s people, albeit distant, that they are.’

  ‘Great Gods! You took the oath to King George and all his heirs and succe
ssors did you not? And I imagine there was not a doubt when you were with the Royal Africans?’

  ‘Hah! The Royal Africans – a greater gathering of rascals as ever you’d find. The scum of the earth – your Duke of Wellington’s words – or rather, the scum of the scum of the earth, amenable to no discipline other than by the lash, and with no courage other than by drink. And yet, Colonel Hervey, and yet, every man of that infamous corps would have considered himself to be my superior on account of his fair, if pock-marked skin.’ He shook his head. ‘No, Colonel, the doubts about me in the Royal African Corps were not as elevated as to concerns about my loyalty. They were rather, I imagine, of my humanity.’

  Hervey shifted awkwardly in his chair. These were depths with which he was unhappy, certainly on so recent an acquaintance. But his instinct was to sympathy nevertheless, even if sceptical. ‘The officers – your fellow officers, I mean – they were not of an entirely prejudiced disposition?’

  ‘My fellow officers, Colonel Hervey? Did you meet any officers of the Royal African Corps? Unread men. Not, I imagine, the sort that would grace the table of the Sixth Light Dragoons. That is your regiment, is it not?’

  ‘It is. How did you know?’

  Fairbrother tilted his head. ‘I keep myself informed. I see the London Gazette’ He paused. ‘I now know exactly who you are.’

  Hervey decided it was time to bring affairs to a resolution, moving to the edge of his chair as if to rise. ‘Then you are at an advantage, sir, for I know next to nothing of you. And I do not think I care to unless you are prepared to accompany me to the frontier. It would otherwise be mere idle gossip.’

  For the first time Fairbrother looked discomfited, as if realizing he had momentarily lost the initiative. ‘Very well, Colonel Hervey, if you would have it so immediately—’

  Hervey drove home ruthlessly his sudden advantage. ‘I would indeed. I have more than sufficient business to be about.’

  Fairbrother quite flinched at the sudden display (and reminder) of martial briskness. ‘Very well, Colonel Hervey, you shall have my answer at once. I will accompany you. But in the situation of gentleman, not of any military rank.’

  Hervey sat back in his chair. He smiled cautiously. ‘Of course. And you may begin at once by omitting my rank too.’

  ‘I’m obliged – very much obliged.’

  Hervey, smiling more confidently, crossed his legs. ‘Would you tell me of your people now?’

  The lieutenant-governor’s sitting room, as familiarly furnished as had been that same room in Bedford Square, was made all the more comfortable by a good fire and the warmth of Hervey’s report. The lieutenant-governor drained his glass, rose from his writing table and nodded as if contemplating his assent.

  ‘Truly, Somervile, he is a most intriguing man, and most engaging too – at least after the initial haughtiness is put aside. And, I believe, he may be a most discerning guide. He declined all rank.’

  Somervile poured himself another glass of sherry, seeing Hervey’s was full still. ‘A mulatto having the King’s commission – I never heard of it. The Duke of York was evidently of purer fire than I imagined.’

  Hervey at last sipped a good measure of his sherry, content now that Somervile was of a mind with him. He would therefore tell him rather more of what he knew of Master Fairbrother. ‘His story is really quite winning. His father – his natural father – owned extensive estates in Jamaica, and formed an attachment – I mean an attachment, not merely in the usual way – with one of his slaves, who does sound to me to have been a most agreeable woman. Be that as it may, the young Edward Fairbrother – a most unfortunate name, of course – played happily with the real Fairbrother heir, was raised with him indeed, schooled with him, and then the young master died of a fever when he was ten years old, the same age as our Fairbrother. At which the father formally adopted his natural son and sent him to school in Kingston – where I must say he appears to have had rather a fine schooling – and then bought him an ensigncy in the Jamaica Fencibles, and thence the Royal Africans.’

  Somervile looked puzzled. ‘I wonder, with his adopted father’s money, why he was not able therefore to advance in rank.’

  Hervey inclined his head and raised his eyebrows, as if to signal that it was ‘the old story’ again. ‘He told me his father lost the greater part of his fortune in imprudent investments. He now lives on a modest annuity and his half pay – and such business as he can transact importing rum; though he says that now Cape brandy is improved, the commissaries are buying it for the ration rather than rum from the West Indies. He is of some independent means, however, and most certainly of independent mind; I believe we shall get on tolerably well.’

  The lieutenant-governor nodded, this time unambiguously. ‘I am glad to hear it. Just so long as he and Colonel Somerset do not ride together.’ He finished his glass and reached once more for the decanter. ‘I must say too that I am increasingly ill-disposed towards the colonel. His manner this morning at the quayside was really most improper, and I’ve heard murmuring from the colonial staff too. He is decidedly against the idea of the Mounted Rifles, apparently. He believes proper cavalry’s what puts the fear of God into a black man. When General Bourke is returned I may ask him of Somerset’s humour.’

  Hervey accepted more sherry and unbuttoned his coat a little, warming to the atmosphere in every sense. ‘May I ask of your own humour? Can you give me yet any enabling order for the frontier, and the limits if there be any?’

  The lieutenant-governor sat back in his chair again, looking satisfied. ‘I can. You may take them with you after dinner, together with, I am prodigiously pleased to say, some very serviceable maps. But let me tell you now of what I have in mind, in the broadest of terms.’

  Hervey listened keenly as Somervile began. They had known each other, and indeed had worked together, long enough for the one to inform the other of his intent without recourse to many words, and for the one to know precisely what the other had need of hearing. Somervile did not therefore itemize his requirements, as if a list for attention by a quartermaster (though he made sure that such detail was recorded in his written orders for the benefit of his staff and the record); instead he told Hervey what was his mind regarding the Xhosa. He wished to know, if it came to a fight – and he earnestly hoped that it would not – what was the best course of victory. He wished to know if in that regard the Cape Colony was in essence like India. If it were, then he, the lieutenant-governor, would have no concerns: if his pacific policies failed then he would rely on the correct application of his military resources. If it were not like India, then he would first have to recast that military strategy before gambling with his ‘diplomatic’ means. And this, he confided very readily, he would do on and with the advice of his old friend rather than by that of any general.

  XVI

  THE SETTLEMENTS

  Algoa Bay, 23 August

  With the fairest of winds, the passage from Cape Town to Port Elizabeth was ten days. Assisted by steam, as Hervey and his party were in the Fortune, a brig with just enough room to ship five horses as well as half a dozen passengers comfortably, the passage was made in six even though the winds were at times light.

  They messed together during that time: Hervey, Fairbrother, Corporal Wainwright (whose lance rank had been another casualty of the change of command), Private Johnson and two Cape Dutch merchants returning to Port Elizabeth, whose English was limited to the needs of their trade and who therefore kept themselves much to their own society. Fairbrother himself, perceiving some antipathy towards him initially on the merchants’ part, was quick to pick a fight with them in their own language – some trivial thing, a little matter of history concerning the settlement of the Cape, but enough to promote an atmosphere of unease – although after two days they managed to bring themselves to some repairing civility, which made Fairbrother content. Hervey observed in this both a combative streak, which was admirable in a soldier if kept under strict regulation, and a propen
sity to see insult at every turn, which in combination was tiresome and altogether too volatile. What he also observed, however, was the effect of Fairbrother’s sharing a table with Wainwright and Johnson. At first it was all polite formality, but after a while Fairbrother noticed the happy familiarity between the two dragoons and Hervey, the warmth, the confidence, the mutual trust and respect – all the things that at one time he had thought the mark of an Englishman in his dealings with another. For as Hervey had already concluded, Fairbrother thought himself first an Englishman. That, indeed, had been his education, his upbringing – to begin with as the half kin and inseparable companion of a fair-faced Fairbrother, and then as the adopted heir of one who seemed to him the personification of all that Shakespeare and the misty-eyed poetry to which he was drawn spoke of distant England.

  Fairbrother in turn spoke of it to Hervey as they neared their harbour.

  ‘You know, Hervey, I have observed much in the past few days that restores my spirits. These men of yours are vastly different from those of the Royal African Corps. You may not believe how so.’

  Hervey could believe it only too well: he doubted that Edward Fairbrother had ever had to put a ball into the chest of a man in a red jacket, as he had at Badajoz. ‘I do not know what conclusion you draw from that observation, but it would be perilous to be sentimental.’

  Fairbrother smiled. ‘Oh, you must permit me a little sentiment, if it is of the good sort. It is merely that I marvel at your way with these men, almost as if they were fellow officers indeed.’

  Hervey knew what Fairbrother meant. He had himself observed the stiffness, the necessary distance between officers and men in the ranks of red, but he was intrigued to know more of this impartial observer’s opinion, for such things were ever flattering. ‘The regiment has always been under very strict regulation, but never by the lash.’