A Regimental Affair (43 page)

As acting superintendent of the Upper Canada division, Major Barry Lawrence wore the green facings – collar, cuffs and lapels – of the Indian Department of British North America. He was a man of about Hervey’s build, in his middle thirties, with a skin the colour of new-tanned leather, and when he learned that Hervey was only lately returned from India, he began an interrogation designed to acquaint himself with any similarities in the native methods of organization and fighting. However, Hervey was eventually able to persuade him to volunteer details of the North American Indian, being, he argued, a rather more pertinent subject to time and place. The superintendent was able to say only a little, though, before dinner was announced, leaving Hervey obviously disappointed.

‘Come to the department tomorrow, at ten, say, and we can resume,’ said Lawrence as they proceeded to the dining room. ‘I’m pleased you take an interest, for it is the most important business to be settled now that we have an agreement on naval matters.’

They were fourteen at dinner, but the table was not large, and there was an intimacy to proceedings despite the formality of the seating arrangements. As a privy councillor, Mr Charles Bagot, envoy extraordinary and minister plenipotentiary to the United States of America, came before an earl in precedence, and so was seated on Sir Peregrine Maitland’s right, with Lady Mary Bagot on his left. Across the table from her husband sat Lady Sarah Maitland, with Lord Towcester on her right. Henrietta was to the minister’s right, and Hervey almost opposite. For the first courses Hervey chatted with Charles Addinsel, who sat adjacent at the end of the table, and then to the widow of a commanding officer of the New Brunswick Fencibles, who had remained in York when her late husband’s regiment had returned east. From time to time he stole a glance at Henrietta. Once, she caught his look and held it several seconds, reddening about the neck in the way she did when they embraced. Her eyes promised him they would embrace again
that evening, for Henrietta’s ardour was in no degree diminished by her condition. Indeed, if anything it seemed intensified. And he himself was no less invigorated by it, for all the little blooms of fecundity – the swellings and ripeness – roused every instinct to be one with her.

By the time the sweet dishes were served, the conversation had become enlarged; or rather, the talk at the centre of the table was being listened to attentively by the guests at the ends. Lady Sarah Maitland leaned forward, turning towards Hervey, and smiling very prettily said she understood that he, too, had been at the Battle of Waterloo. ‘And I wonder, did you see anything of my husband’s guardsmen?’

The table fell silent. Lady Sarah was the same age as Henrietta, and some fifteen years or so her husband’s junior. Her enquiry was of a childlike innocence and pride, and not one which even modesty might resist. ‘I did indeed, ma’am,’ was the best Hervey could manage, however.

Sir Peregrine, who had hitherto borne a somewhat distant, patrician look, now softened, even seeming to smile at the remembrance.

‘Did you observe when the duke bid them stand up?’ asked Lady Sarah.

‘Yes, ma’am. We were not so very far on their left at that moment.’

‘Then tell me how it appeared, for I have heard several accounts,’ she pressed.

‘Well, ma’am, it was towards the end of the day, as you will recall, and Bonaparte had become desperate and sent his imperial guards at our centre. They marched towards where there was a gap in our line of infantry, with only a brigade of light cavalry seeming to stand between them and Brussels. And just as it seemed they would be able to take the ridge and drive on to that city, up stood a whole brigade of guardsmen which I swear I had not even seen until that moment, so perfectly still had they remained in the corn.’

‘It was an unusual drill movement,’ Sir Peregrine acknowledged.

‘And then they swept the French back down the hill?’ prompted Lady Sarah.

‘Indeed, ma’am. It was the end. The Duke of Wellington gave the order for the whole line to advance.’

Lady Sarah smiled adoringly at her husband.

‘There was some very apt musketry from others at that moment, we should not forget,’ said Sir Peregrine. ‘The Sixth had a good gallop at the French hill, too, as I remember, Hervey.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Who was commanding at that stage? Lord George Irvine was with the Prince of Orange, was he not?’

‘Yes he was, sir. I am afraid our major was killed and all our captains accounted for. The command had devolved upon me in the closing minutes.’

Henrietta now bore the same look of admiration as the general’s wife. But she had also seen the look on Lord Towcester’s face: distaste – an intense envy, indeed.

‘And Captain Hervey must have performed those duties very well,’ said Lady Mary Bagot to Sir Peregrine, though in a voice to be heard by the table as a whole, ‘because he was afterwards made aide-de-camp to my uncle.’

This further revelation made Hervey redden. He had no idea of Lady Mary Bagot’s kinship with the duke. Henrietta glanced at Lord Towcester again. His envy was so intense as to appear quite alarming to her.

‘I confess to feeling humbled by the presence of
two
Waterloo men,’ declared Lady Mary’s husband.

Hervey was amazed that a minister with plenipotentiary powers should express himself humbled in any way by a soldier, but he thought his sentiment genuine nevertheless.

Sir Peregrine was equally self-deprecating. ‘Oh, now, for my part at least, I would own that it was sheer circumstance, and infinitely to be preferred to the fighting that Pakenham’s army had in the Mississippi at the time.’

‘Well, let us pray there is no recrudescence, on either front,’ conceded Bagot.

Lady Sarah Maitland made to rise, her chair eased by a footman. ‘Not
too
long, my dear,’ she said, fixing her husband with a smile that none might resist. ‘There can surely be little to detain you now that there is so universal a peace.’

The men stood as she led the ladies to the drawing room.

When they were gone, the junior guests closed to the middle of the table, and the port was passed. Lord Towcester lit a cigar. ‘And
what is your opinion of recrudescence here, Bagot? Do the Americans covet His Majesty’s provinces still?’

The tone was the merest shade lofty, but enough to register with the minister plenipotentiary. ‘Well, Lord Towcester, “covet” would imply to me that the United States laid claim to Canada and would not be at rest until that claim is granted,’ began Bagot. ‘I do not see it thus, though if it were possible to seize the provinces with impunity I should not doubt that the temptation would be too great.’ He lit a cigar too, blowing smoke confidently towards the ceiling. ‘But the time is past. They failed to take advantage of our distraction by Bonaparte, and they know they have not the strength to take on our fleet and army now. I have just finished negotiating the neutrality of the Great Lakes, indeed. They have given up any right of a naval presence on them, save a few vessels to protect their legitimate interests, in return for the same. Yet we could reinforce the Lakes at any time from the Atlantic, with sufficient determination. And the
St Lawrence
– a first-rate – is laid up in ordinary. Recommissioned, she would still outgun anything the Americans could put on Lake Ontario for at least a year.’

‘I heard they had something to meet her with in the
New Orleans
?’ said Lord Towcester.

Bagot took another leisurely draw on his cigar. ‘A hundred and ten guns to seventy-four? Not, I think, good odds. And in any case, the
New Orleans
is still on the stocks.’

Lord Towcester frowned. ‘And so you believe that the border may now be left unguarded?’

‘I did not say that, Lord Towcester,’ replied Bagot, frowning equally. ‘I believe, though, that it permits a strategy over a long term of disengaging from a forward defence of the frontiers. The United States has, anyway, other priorities. It is the south and west which more naturally engages the people seeking new land. And in doing so they run into the native Indians and the Spanish. That will absorb the energies of government these next twenty years.’

Sir Peregrine Maitland refilled his glass and passed the port to the superintendent of the Indian Department. ‘How say you, Lawrence?’

Barry Lawrence took the decanter and poured himself a glass, raising his eyebrows as if to say he was touching on something unfathomable. ‘Well, Sir Peregrine, I believe the Americans are
about to begin a struggle that will take a generation and more to end.’

Lord Towcester looked incredulous. ‘Do you mean to say that an assortment of savages will trouble an army which inflicted so much pain on our own?’

‘I’m afraid I do, your lordship.’

Lord Towcester huffed.

‘And I very much fear that we in Canada may not escape the consequences. Have you heard of the affair at Niagara?’

Sir Peregrine was apparently none too keen to have it related. ‘Let us adjourn, gentlemen. These are weighty matters for an evening such as this, and Major Lawrence shall anyway have every opportunity these winter months to tell you of his concerns.’

By now Hervey had formed a very agreeable opinion indeed of the superintendent, who was quite evidently a forthright man with a passion for his subject. Indeed, Lawrence put him in mind of the Collector of Guntoor, and he wondered at the ability of the nation to produce men of aptness such as they, able so to immerse themselves in a society alien in every way, with danger and reward in wholly unequal proportions. ‘Shall you tell me of this affair tomorrow when we meet?’ he whispered as they left the room.

The superintendent looked at him and raised an eyebrow. ‘Do you have a strong stomach?’

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.’