A Regimental Affair (46 page)

Next morning, snow was falling as the troop mustered for the return march, and there was talk of staying at the fort until it stopped. But Lord Towcester saw no reason why they should not at least set out, for between Fort Erie and Chippeway there was shelter enough if the snow became heavier, and they could bivouac at any number of places if things came to the worst. He had matters pressing in plenty at York. Hervey was content enough with the condition of the troop after his morning inspection, and so they left by the road they had come on at a quarter to ten, the Cayuga scouts this time taking a much closer point since visibility was reduced.

Major Lawrence decided not to return with them, however. He intended taking the ferry across the river to Buffalo to meet with his counterpart there, to discover what policy the United States would be adopting towards their Indians in the spring. Rumours of inevitable displacements had already reached him in York from diplomatic sources in Montreal, and Mr Bagot himself had thought that the settlers’ inroads west of the Missouri would soon unravel Washington’s resettlement policy.

They made the fifteen miles to Chippeway just after midday. The snow had stopped falling soon after they set off, and they had been able to maintain a brisk trot for a mile or so at a time. They made a brief halt at the village, where the people showed the same alacrity in hospitality as the day before, and the dragoons were again able to eat hot without the trouble of dismounting their own camp kettles.

Lord Towcester summoned Hervey to his side. ‘See here, there is no need at all of our spending another night at Fort George. I consider there to be no purpose in it, anyway. We can take this road here’ – he indicated the line with a gloved finger, rather indistinctly – ‘along Lundy’s Lane to begin with. There was some skirmish of cavalry in the war there, so it must be passable to the horse. We may then proceed to the road from Queenston to Burlington that runs atop the ridge, instead of skirting the lake. It will save us all of eight leagues, and a further night.’

Hervey was not so sure. Indeed, he felt uneasy. If the lieutenant
colonel wished to curtail the patrol, that was of course his prerogative, and he assumed that Lord Towcester possessed that discretion in Sir Peregrine’s orders. But the distance by this direct route was, even at a rough calculation, not much short of fortyfive miles. They had at best five hours of daylight left, though the moon and snow would make movement at night along a road relatively easy. But if the weather were to change again, the route could be treacherous. And the road through the forest to the Burlington ridge looked little better than a track.

‘Do you think we should ask the Indians, your lordship?’

‘Confound the Indians, Captain Hervey! Do you even know enough of their language? They’ll do as they’re damn well told!’

Lord Towcester was clearly in one of his peremptory moods, but Hervey felt bound to risk one more objection. ‘We might be benighted, though, sir, however well we do.’

‘In Heaven’s name, Captain Hervey! I heard tell at Fort George of a woman who went on
foot
this way during the war, and warned our men of an attack! You’re not telling me you’re afraid to take to the woods on a horse if a confounded woman can do it on her feet!’

Hervey had heard of Mrs Secord’s fearless journey. But she had walked from Queenston not Chippeway, and in the middle of summer. He thought it useless to point this out to Lord Towcester, however. ‘Very good, your lordship. I will tell the scouts,’ he said, wondering to himself if he could.

In fact, communicating with the scouts was not as difficult as Hervey expected. He was able to get them to comprehend his intentions easily enough in a mixture of English and simple sign language (the map, predictably, was of no use to the proceedings). They were evidently unhappy with the news – for three reasons, as far as he could make out. First, the road was difficult, with many ups and downs and streams to cross. Then they made signs indicating that night would fall on them, and finally something about passing through land which the Mississauga hunted. Hervey was only too relieved that they did not turn and walk away when he told them he intended taking the road anyway. But it was his first taste of an Indian’s displeasure, even in that brief exchange, and it was not palatable.

He called Serjeant Armstrong aside and made a clean breast of
things. ‘I’ll not say anything to Mr Seton Canning, but it’s as well you know my apprehension. I dare say all will be well. We’ll end up huddled in the forest after midnight when the moon sets, but that we can bear. And the Indians will be used to people riding through if there’s a road cut, so they can’t be all that troubled by our doing so. But I want NCOs’ pistols primed all the same. No others, mind.’

Armstrong nodded. ‘I was talking to them Indians last night. They’re worried where all the game’s going – all of them are. Some of the tribes are starving.’

Hervey could only admire his serjeant’s way with men. ‘Major Lawrence’s officers have been telling me this as well.’

‘I suggest we take flints out of weapons, too – except the NCOs, I mean. If one of them greenheads’ pistols goes off . . .’

Hervey nodded. ‘Ay. It doesn’t bear thinking about.’

In the event, the road was better than Hervey had imagined, but narrow. They rode in file rather than threes, though, and from time to time the files had to merge. But the snow hadn’t settled so deep as on the road they had left, and it didn’t ball in the hooves. They managed some good trots in the first ten miles. The Cayugas rode very close point, however, not once losing sight behind. They seemed distinctly less at ease than on the ride out, and not a word passed between them.

The forest impressed its silence on the dragoons, too. For the most part, the only sound was the occasional snort from their plodding troopers, or the jingling of a bridoon, or the chink of stirrups as the files came too close. Looking left or right into the forest, Hervey could not imagine the sound travelling more than a few yards in that mass of fir, beech and elm. It looked more impenetrable than anything he had seen in India, even. And all the time there was neither sight nor sound of another living thing, on the ground, in the trees or overhead.

The Mississaugas came out of the forest like some sudden, mechanical change of scenery on a stage. There seemed no movement, only appearance – a dozen or so warriors at the same instant, in the same attitude, well wrapped in long moosehide coats, full hair to the shoulders, faces dyed red above the cheekbones. They stood, rifle in left hand, motionless and wholly impassive.

The Cayugas halted –
froze
. Lord Towcester drew his pistol, pulling back the hammer with his left hand. He lost his grip, grabbed as it fell, but missed. It hit the ground handle first, springing the hammer. The noise was like a cannon in the silence. He spun his horse round.

‘Threes about! Threes about!’ he shouted. But there was no room for even files to turn. He barged at Hervey and his trumpeter to make way.

Hervey was so startled, he grabbed his arm. ‘Sir, they’ve gone, they’ve gone.’

Lord Towcester turned in the saddle. The Mississaugas had disappeared as suddenly as they had come. He was dumbstruck.

‘We should trot on, sir,’ pressed Hervey. ‘Look, the scouts are doing the same!’ He seized the lieutenant colonel’s reins and pulled his horse into motion.

Fort York, two days later

The quarter guard turned out as the patrol neared the gates. Twelve dragoons of the inlying picket brought their carbines to the present, and the corporal brought his sabre to the carry. The trumpeters blew ‘Attention’, and orderlies stood ready to take the reins of the chargers.

The Earl of Towcester acknowledged the respects without halting. ‘Carry on, Captain Hervey,’ he said, barely audibly, his right leg already out of the stirrup. The lieutenant colonel’s groom took in hand the big black gelding and, without a backward glance or another word, Lord Towcester strode away to his quarters, the adjutant a few paces behind him.

Hervey fronted to the patrol. ‘The commanding officer would wish me to express his appreciation of your exertions this past week. The conditions were trying and your conduct exemplary. There shall be a rum issue and stand-down of twenty-four hours from watch-setting this evening. Fall out, Mr Seton Canning. Carry on, please, Serjeant Armstrong.’

‘I’ll see to stables, if you wish, Hervey,’ said Seton Canning as they dismounted.

‘Thank you. Yes.’ How decent of his lieutenant to guess so much of his mind. Henrietta would have claimed him anyway, in her condition, but Canning was not to know how keenly Hervey wanted to relate to her Lord Towcester’s infamous conduct. ‘I shan’t be long. Just an hour, perhaps.’

‘As you please, Hervey. There’s no need of haste on my account.’

Haste or no, it did not take Hervey long to walk to his quarters, even in the two feet of new snow lying about the fort, which fatigue parties were already clearing into neat pathways. Smoke rising from the double chimney of his quarters promised a warm homecoming, but the fresh sleigh tracks outside suggested they would not be alone. He opened the door, expecting to find Lady Sarah Maitland, though it was early for calling.

‘Hopwood? What are
you
doing here?’

Private Hopwood was carrying a basket of logs to the fire. ‘Corporal Collins sent me to mind the house, sir. Her ladyship was taken to General Maitland’s this morning. She wasn’t feeling well, sir.’

Hervey’s mouth fell open.

‘I’m sure it’s nothing serious, sir,’ Hopwood added quickly.

‘Indeed? Did the surgeon say that?’ asked Hervey, impatiently, replacing his shako and turning for the door.

‘I didn’t see him, sir. But I know that he’s gone to the general’s with her.’

It was, of course, an obliging thing for a dragoon to want to allay his captain’s anxiety, but so wholly uninformed an opinion was not of the least value to him. ‘Very well. I shall go there at once.’ But now he found himself wanting to make amends for his impatience by some display of ease. ‘And while I am gone, would you be so very good as to draw me a bath?’

As Hervey opened the door, a sleigh halted outside. A youngish woman in a black cloak stepped out. ‘Captain Hervey, sir?’

‘Yes?’

‘I am Janette, sir, Lady Sarah Maitland’s maid. I am come to fetch some things for your wife.’

‘Things? What things?’

The maid looked down awkwardly. ‘Ladies’ things, sir.’

Hervey fancied he knew the contents of their quarters well
enough, but, as with Hopwood, he could not quite bring himself to disappoint someone so evidently intent on performing a good deed. ‘Very well. Do please go inside.’ He nearly said ‘
Come
inside’, but he had committed himself to stepping out at once for the Maitlands.

‘Thank you, sir. Shall you be going back to Government House?’

‘I have not yet been there. I am only this minute returned to the town.’ He was tired, the business was beginning to fray, and all he could think about was getting to his wife.

‘Oh!’ The maid’s manner changed at once.

‘What is it? Why do you say that?’

‘You don’t know her ladyship is in labour, sir?’

Hervey’s mouth fell open. ‘No, no – indeed I do not!’

His response alarmed her. ‘I think I had better get these things, then, sir.’

‘Yes, yes – of course! Tell me, is my wife . . .’

‘I trust so, sir. I was given my orders by her ladyship – the general’s lady, I mean – direct.’

It took him a quarter of an hour to walk to Government House. He walked so fast in the end that he slipped and slid for much of the way. He took the salted steps of the lieutenant-governor’s residence two at a time, and pulled the bell rope.

‘Ah, indeed, Captain Hervey, sir,’ replied the footman, stepping aside to let him enter.

The house was silent. ‘Is her ladyship at home?’

‘Her ladyship is at home, sir. I will announce you.’

The footman showed him to an ante-room. There, Hervey recovered his breath and something of his composure, and tried to clear his mind in order to calculate the date again. But it still came out the same. They’d talked of the beginning of March, surely? There were a full six weeks to run. What was the danger in so early a labour?
Was
there any danger? Hadn’t Daniel Coates said that a mare carried from forty weeks to more than a year, depending on whether she were a big shire or a pony? Was it the same with humans? Everyone spoke of nine months, but was it more for a bigger woman, and fewer for one more delicately made? Had Kitty Spence, the tiny Longleat seamstress, carried her little girl as long as Annie Patten had carried those
rough twins of hers? Sturdy Annie, the Longleat dairymaid who used to pin fast his head in her huge bosom when he was a boy – surely she would have needed longer? How little he seemed to know. Why was Lady Sarah so long in coming? Why did
no one
come? What was amiss?