When the even numbers had doubled a hundred yards, the adjutant blew his whistle, the riflemen halted, faced about, grounded arms and held the targets aloft.
Hervey’s mouth near fell open.
‘Every man a volunteer, Colonel,’ said the adjutant. ‘They do things different at the Cape.’
Hervey shook his head: they were indeed a long way from Hounslow.
‘Odd numbers, prone position, two rounds in your own time, go on!’
The adjutant explained that the riflemen had been numbered off a fortnight ago in permanent pairings, and that this was to be the final test of mutual confidence.
Single shots rang out the length of the line, impressively deliberate. There was a pause of several seconds to let the smoke clear, while each man took aim with the second barrel, and then it was the same again: the most purposeful shooting Hervey had ever seen. He could not tell yet, of course, how wide or high the riflemen had aimed, but he greatly admired the steadiness of the target-holders nonetheless. He would not have wished to stand at a hundred yards and have a line of redcoats fire even wide and high of him, so inaccurate was the musket!
The adjutant blew his whistle, and the even numbers doubled back to the firing point. Hervey began examining the targets eagerly. Every one of them had two holes.
Now the practice was repeated, odd numbers doubling out with the targets for the evens. The shoot-ing was the same, deliberate business; and when the targets came back, the results were as before.
Hervey was minded to address the rifle-recruits, and then thought better of it: let them think this was nothing remarkable and they might achieve even more. There would certainly be need, and much of it at close-quarters. He knew he might see shooting as intelligent as this at Shorncliffe, but there was a distinct edge to what he had just witnessed. He was thoroughly heartened. He could tell Somervile that already there were the makings of a force to tackle the frontier on its own terms – could tell Somervile and General Bourke (he must make no mistake on that account).
‘And the other recruit platoons are as good,’ said the adjutant as Hervey began walking from the firing point towards where Johnson stood with the horses.
Hervey nodded. ‘I congratulate you most heartily, Captain Brigg. And I’m grateful to you for sending me word of this. I landed only a little before midnight, but the effort has been repaid handsomely, I assure you. And now I shall go and see how my dragoons are’ (he smiled wryly); ‘carbines and all!’
Hervey gazed at the corral in horrified disbelief. Never in all his service had he seen its like. ‘How many?’
‘Fifty-seven,’ said the veterinary surgeon.
Not a horse moved: two-thirds of the squadron’s sabre strength stood head down, as if bawled out by the harshest-mouthed serjeant-major, their coats looking like nothing so much as old blankets with half the nap plucked away.
‘And the others?’
‘Not one of the chargers, thank God. They were stabled well apart. For the rest, I can discern no pattern. The better quality have fared as bad as the rest. It’s difficult to say what’s the nature of the illness, let alone the cause or cure. The depression you see in their condition is undoubtedly respiratory, but there’s some poison in the blood too. There’s a good deal of inflammation about the eyes, and the fossa’s much swollen. That will account for some of the immobility. And the fever too.’
‘What do the authorities say?’
‘Nothing of real help. The Dutch call it perdesiekt. It strikes from time to time, though without obvious cause, the only common factor being that it tends to come at the onset of summer. It’s highly contagious and they’ve no treatment for it. The chances of recovery appear to be about one in five.’
‘Could it be something else, contracted in England?’
‘I could not dismiss the possibility, but I know of no disease which takes longer than twenty-eight days to manifest itself, which is why we fix the period of quarantine at twice that time. If it is this perdesiekt then there’s consolation that those that recover will be salted.’
Hervey sighed. ‘That is cold comfort, I think.’
‘At this time, perhaps. The Dutch have been clever about it, though. They’ve built their studs with salted stock. Any Caper we buy – and we’ll have to buy – will be warranted resistant to it.’
Hervey thought for a while. ‘There’s nothing you can do?’
‘On the contrary: I’m doing a great deal, but it can be of little prospect, for I can only treat speculatively – and variously, so that if there is any amendment it will likely as not be confined to a quarter of them.’
Hervey felt himself tired, but even so he thought Sam Kirwan a shade difficult to follow this morning. ‘Would you explain?’
‘One quarter of them I’m not treating at all. One quarter I’m dosing strongly with acetic acid, another I’m purging with calomel, and the rest I’m bleeding.’
‘Bleeding? But you always said—’
‘Unless I can show that I’ve bled, the College will dismiss any findings.’
Hervey’s brow furrowed. ‘Sam, if you believe that bleeding does nothing but weaken a sick animal, then a quarter of these are condemned for the sake of science.’
‘Not a quarter, Hervey, but one in five of a quarter; unless – and it would be perverse in the extreme – all the animals in that quarter were the ones that would recover naturally.’
Hervey had questioned Sam Kirwan’s judgement once before; tired though he was, he would not do so a second time. ‘Very well. You did not say: have any died yet?’
‘No. Death generally occurs in about a week, say the Dutch. The disease only manifested itself four days ago.’
‘And a very strict quarantine of the chargers is being enforced?’
Sam glanced at Hervey from under raised eyebrows.
‘Very well. But you know, come to think of it, we may have a dozen of these saved, but meanwhile we run a terrible risk of contagion. I’ve half a mind it would be better to destroy the lot.’
Sam nodded. ‘I understand your concern perfectly. And I acknowledge I am keenly studying the science in all this, but the chargers are separated by a mile and more; and only I and my assistants travel between them. I do not see how there could be any contagion.’
Hervey was in truth only too pleased to be persuaded that there was no need for destroying the best part of a troop’s worth of horses. ‘Has Fearnley done anything about remounts, do you know?’
Remounts were the regimental officers’ business, not the veterinary surgeon’s, though a prudent buyer would take his opinion. Sam Kirwan had not waited to be asked, however. ‘I’ve made arrangements to go with him to a farm at Eerste River, about fifteen miles east. The Dutch say there’s a good breeder there. He sells to the Company in Madras.’
‘They’ll be tits, no doubt.’
‘But hardy, and good doers, and salted, so you might care to sit a little shorter in the saddle.’
Hervey shrugged. ‘If they’re up to weight then I’ve no very great concern for appearance. When do you go?’
‘Tomorrow.’
‘I may go myself, depending on duties at the castle. But Fearnley’s perfectly capable of choosing remounts – once he’s got over his dismay at not seeing blood. I would have Armstrong go with him too.’
They watched in silence for a while as one of the assistants went to work with a bleeding stick.
‘Two quarts only: enough to keep the antediluvians at the College content. And from the toe: least damage.’
Hervey looked sadly on the scene. He knew Sam Kirwan to be a man of genuine love for the horses in his care: Sam would never have wished such an event. But at least he had his science to compensate him. For the rest – even the roughest dragoon – it was a melancholy affair. No one of his troop had paraded with his own horse longer than a year, for they had brought none back with them from India; yet he had seen seasoned men cry at the destruction of a trooper not weeks in their charge. And,
he was bound to concede, it made mockery of his petition to the Horse Guards that shipping troopers was good economy and sound practice, for now there would be both the expense of remounting and delay in the troop’s readiness for the field.
Hervey made his way back to the castle, but without the spring in his step with which he had left the rifle range. When he reached his quarters he found Johnson attending to the lees of their time at the frontier.
‘What’s up, sir?’
Hervey made no pretence about it. ‘Sixty-odd horses from the troop have got some wretched sickness that will destroy all but a dozen of them. And there’s nothing to be done.’
‘Porca Maria!‘
Hervey glowered at him. ‘You picked up a little Italian, then, in Stepney?’
Johnson shuffled uncomfortably.
‘Is there coffee?’
Johnson scuttled off, returning but a minute later with a tin mug. ‘Will this do for now, sir?’
Hervey nodded. There was doubtless good reason why they were using camp stores still.
‘Has there been any word from the lieutenant-governor? I’m dining with him this evening, and Lady Somervile.’
‘Who’s Lady Somervile?’ asked Johnson, forehead creased.
Hervey looked at him, shaking his head. ‘His wife!’
‘Ah never knew she were a Lady.’
Hervey’s eyes narrowed, uncertain whether Johnson was playing a game. ‘Of course she’s “Lady” now he’s “Sir”!’
Johnson’s brow remained furrowed. ‘You mean they made ‘er a “Lady” when they made ’im a “Sir”?’
Hervey shook his head again, disbelieving. ‘Johnson, how long have you moved in what is called good society? Don’t you yet know that the wife of a knight is always styled “Lady”?’
‘No.’
‘Astonishing. So, you imagined that when a knight – or a baronet, or whatever he is – married, his wife was made “Lady” by the King?
’ ‘No.’
‘What then?’
‘Ah just thought somebody wi’ a title married someone else wi’ a title.’
Hervey was lost for words. And then he began to smile – but to himself, for he would not have given offence for all the world: happy the man for whom dignities and styles were of such little consequence! ‘Well, now you know different’ (he would not say ‘better’). ‘And while we’re about the subject… ‘
‘Ay, sir?’
‘No matter.’
‘Ah’d like t’know.’
‘Really, Johnson, it is of such little consequence.’
‘But it’s been botherin’ thee.’
‘It has not been “bothering” me.’ Hervey found himself sighing. ‘But since we speak of it, there is a very little thing you might try to recall: if a lady is the daughter of a duke, or a marquess, or an earl, she is called “Lady” and then her name and then her husband’s name. If she is the wife of a baronet or a knight she is “Lady” and then just her husband’s name.’
‘Nobody ever told me that.’
‘And you never thought to ask?’
‘Ah never thought there were owt to ask!’
The logic was without flaw. ‘Truly, it is of no consequence.’ He took a long sip of coffee.
Johnson was coming to the end of his huswifery. He stood holding a torn shirt. ‘There were one thing ah al’a’s couldn’t fathom. Why were Mrs ‘Ervey called Lady ‘Enrietta ‘Ervey, cos tha weren’t “Sir” to other people?’
Hervey saw his explanation had been incomplete. Nor could he suppress a warm smile. ‘As I recall it, Johnson, you were the only one who ever called her “Mrs Hervey”. It was because her father had been an earl, and even if I had been Sir Matthew Hervey, she would still have used her own name first. Is all now clear?’
‘Ay, sir. An’ so Lady Katherine Greville…?’
Hervey stopped himself from clearing his throat. ‘Is the daughter of an earl, married to a knight.’
‘An’ Lady Lankester?’
‘The widow of a baronet.’
‘An’ so when she marries thee, sir, she’ll be … not Lady ‘Ervey?’
‘No, because I am neither baronet nor knight. She will be plain “Mrs Hervey”.’
Johnson put the shirt into a raffia box. ‘Won’t she mind that?’
If the question were impertinent, Hervey no longer recognized impertinence in his groom. Long years had convinced him of Johnson’s heart, and the late trouble – the late misunderstanding – with Italians and coral had not altered his opinion in any degree. ‘I must trust not.’
‘Ah don’t like that dog o’ Lady Lankester’s.’
‘The dog is perfectly amenable if you don’t startle her.’
‘An’ ah don’t think she likes me.’
‘She hasn’t bitten you?’
Johnson looked puzzled.
‘The dog, she hasn’t bitten you has she?’
‘Ah meant Lady Lankester.’
Hervey began hearing the same doubting tone with which Emma had pressed him in Gloucestershire. He tried to be cheery. ‘She’s only met you but two or three times!’
‘Ah reckon she won’t want me abaht after yer both wed, sir.’
So that was it! He had never imagined … ‘Johnson, I may safely assure you – and you must believe it – that I shall never dispense with your services until you yourself wish it.’ A smile came to his lips. ‘Or Bow-street requires it!’
Hervey went to the Somerviles that evening a happier man. There was nothing he could do about the ‘epidemic disorder’, as Sam Kirwan was officially describing it: the horses were in the best of hands, and Serjeant-major Armstrong could be relied on to enforce the quarantine. There was evidently a supply of remounts – though he doubted fifty would be to hand at once – and if other duties detained him, he could certainly rely on Lieutenant Fearnley to make sound purchases. As to the money – the War Office must be only too aware of the contingencies of campaigning. There had been no negligence, no neglect, and but for the inevitable and perfectly proper enquiries by some clerk in Downing Street he need have no disquiet in that direction. Above all, the business at the frontier had been both exhilarating and gainful: he had, by his own reckoning and Eyre Somervile’s preliminary reading of his report (a brief interview in the late afternoon had been all that could be managed in the lieutenant-governor’s day of inspections), accomplished what he had been sent there to do. Moreover, he had helped instigate certain measures to ease the immediate Xhosa nuisance. All this he could take the greatest satisfaction in, the more so for its standing in sharp contrast with events of the year before (Portugal, he trusted, would ever be his lowest ebb). He felt in large measure restored. And the gains had not all been His Majesty’s. The country, the Xhosa and above all Edward Fairbrother had taught him a great deal more about the soldier’s art. He had never once thought that he possessed all the art there was to have, but long years in the Peninsula and the tumultuous days of Waterloo, and then the extraordinary campaigns in the East, had given him a certainty in his own proficiency which, in truth, the late unhappy business in Portugal had not diminished. The affair with the Xhosa had been but a scrape, albeit a deadly one; he had observed how it must be done here – and above all how it must not be.
He arrived at the lieutenant-governor’s residence as the sun was rapidly disappearing. He paused a moment outside to watch its descent, still a sight of wonder in these latitudes for all his six weeks in the colony:
The Star that bids the Shepherd fold,
Now the top of Heav’n doth hold,
And the gilded car of day,
His glowing Axle doth allay
In the steep Atlantick stream
He nodded contentedly. This was a beautiful country, for all its frontier savagery – and its horse sickness. He thought he might be reluctant to leave it when the time came. But thinking of Milton made him think also of Joseph Edmonds: he owed that officer so much – his example, his encouragement; above al
l the forbearance and unswerving support whenever he overstepped the mark in rash cornet-judgement. Or was it merely cornet-judgement? Was he not so disposed still? Yes, he knew it; and that much was good, for he could not guard against what he did not recognize. And with Edmonds long gone, and now Daniel Coates, he was without such counsel:
And Advice with scrupulous head,
Strict Age, and sowre Severity,
With their grave Saws in slumber ly.
We that are of purer fire Imitate the Starry Quire…
Hervey nodded. He moved in the military firmament, periodically, but he did not – could not – imitate its ‘Starry Quire’. Except, perhaps, that Kat had begun to show him how he might.
He felt a sudden twinge of guilt. He had treated Kat abominably, by any reckoning; and she had only returned his ill news with kindness and painful understanding – painful both for him and for her. He wondered what she would do now: perhaps return to Alderney, if she could think of Alderney as home to return to, and be reconciled in every way with her husband? No, in truth what he had seen of Sir Peregrine Greville made the notion fanciful. And so there would be other lovers. How could there not be, for Kat was a beautiful woman? Why should there not be? Only that he hated the idea.
He shivered suddenly. Such thoughts were now wholly improper (if they had ever indeed been even partially proper). He turned from the sun as it touched the horizon, and took the steps to the door of the residence. So much had ‘sacred Milton’ kept his thoughts from ‘Riot, and ill manag’d Merriment’. He could not understand himself: the exhilaration of but two months in this place!
At the door of the residence Hervey found familiar faces: Jaswant, the khansamah, and several other of the Somerviles’ Indian servants – and black faces too, got up very smartly in reds and blues.
‘Good evening, Colonel Sahib!’
Hervey smiled and returned the greeting more fully than he needed to: a familiar and a friendly face so far from home was a welcome thing. And ‘Colonel Sahib’ sounded so fine! No matter that in all probability it was temporary, he was indeed ‘Colonel’. And in a colony of a single general, a colonel was of consequence.
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