Hervey 07 - An Act Of Courage (8 page)

‘We did not speak of him: there is a surgeon at duty?’

‘Yes, and fair he is too,’ replied Edmonds, eyeing the straw in the first stall for signs of parsimony or excess. ‘But the paymaster is a drunk, and I’ve begun proceedings against him.’

Lord George sighed. ‘There’s never a good moment to be deficient of a paymaster, but now of all times . . .’ He paused to look into each stall as they made their way to the other end.

‘Indeed not, but I’ve put one of the lieutenants to do duty meanwhile – Hirsch.’

Lord George frowned. ‘Hirsch? A very
Jewey
name.’

‘Yes. His father is one of Rothschild’s men. A deuced handy officer is young Hirsch, and uncommonly good on the flute.’

‘Well, there would have been scant specie in Flanders had it not been for Rothschild’s arrangements, that is certain, though doubtless he made a good rate on it. Let us pray that Mr Hirsch has his tribe’s facility with money.’ He stopped to study one of the troopers, a dun mare. ‘She looks a very good sort. My compliments to you and Lankester, though we wouldn’t have bought her twelve months ago, not that colour.’

Edmonds tilted his head. ‘I confess I gave the colour not a deal of thought, Colonel.’

Lord George smiled ruefully. ‘I fear there are many who still would, Edmonds. I don’t believe the scale of the enterprise is as yet understood by one half of the army.’

To Edmonds, who had thought of nothing but the calamity of Corunna, and its aftermath, the notion was astonishing. ‘Even going as we have, it will be six months before we can call ourselves ready.’

‘We don’t
have
that long,’ said Lord George, emphatically.

Edmonds said nothing. It would take as long as it took; and so far, six months was the best that anyone could imagine.

Lord George stood contemplating the dun mare a while before resuming the inspection. ‘What of the adjutant?’ he asked, giving the busy tail in the next stall a wide berth.

‘Tipping? In the daily administration of the regiment he is not at all bad, though I think he is deficient in true zeal. If we are to take to the field again I believe you might find him wanting.’

Lord George held up a hand. ‘I am by no means dismayed by that. I intend bringing a man from the Royals as soon as may be.’

Edmonds nodded. ‘Tipping may be glad to sell out. I presume he may exchange with your man?’

‘That might be arranged, yes. I would not hear of any turn-out, mind, but I should be obliged to have my own man.’

‘Of course, Colonel.’ Edmonds knew he would do the same. It was fortunate they did not have to shift a crack man.

The duty dragoon came out of the feed room, saw Edmonds, and the stranger, and drew his arms to his side. ‘Morning, Cap’n Edmonds, sir.’

‘Good morning, Johnson. All sound after exercise?’

‘One o’m’s got t’gripes – dry soort.’

Lord George looked puzzled. ‘What was that, Edmonds?’ he whispered as best he could.

‘One of the horses has dry colic, Colonel. This is Johnson, who was in my troop until last year. He comes from the infernal regions.’

‘Indeed?’

Johnson advanced, halted after a fashion, and stood awkwardly, feet together but the rest of the body at ease. His uniform was patched even more than Crampton’s and Hardy’s, and he was wearing a short smock.

Lord George was clearly intrigued. ‘What has been the treatment, Johnson?’

Before Johnson could answer, Edmonds thought to avoid any misunderstanding; he knew his man only too well. ‘Johnson, your commanding officer.’

Johnson shifted his weight slightly, which passed as a bracingup. ‘Mr Knight gev ’im a clyster, Colonel, an’ stuck ’is ’and up ’er an’ pulled out all t’mard ’e could. Like rock, it were.’

Lord George nodded, confident he had understood the import, if not every word. ‘Very well. And you, Private Johnson: what were you able to come away with from Corunna?’

‘Nowt at all, Colonel.’ Johnson sounded surprised. ‘We ’ad a few things we’d found on t’way – a bit o’ silver an’ that – but t’infantry’d got all t’best.’

Edmonds sighed. ‘Johnson, I believe the colonel meant what of your own
equipment
.’

‘Oh, nowt, Colonel. Just me sword an’ carbine, an’ what ah stood up in.’

‘And have you received any money?’

‘I’ve ’ad all me pay, Colonel. An’ ten pounds for us lost things – me razor an’ that. But they ’aven’t taken for me diffies yet.’

Lord George looked at Edmonds, who turned to Johnson again.

‘Johnson, I cannot believe you have not been told at least five times: there will be no stoppages for deficiencies arising from the exigencies of Corunna.’

‘No, ah knows that, sir. But t’quartermaster says ’e’s not just gooin to write-off ev’rythin’.’

Lord George Irvine, impressed by this evidence of zealous interior economy, was nevertheless puzzled by the method. How were the quartermasters going to determine what were legitimate field losses and what were not? ‘How so, Johnson?’

‘We ’ad a full kit check just before we went t’harbour, Colonel.’

‘Ah, I see.’

‘What did you lose between then and here?’ asked Edmonds, as intrigued now as was the commanding officer.

‘Me spurs, sir.’

‘Careless, that.’

‘Ah bloody well threw ’em away, sir; after we’d shot all t’orses!’

Edmonds wished he’d never asked. He’d felt like doing the same after shooting his own.

Lord George spoke to recover the situation (he hoped). ‘You have a good remount?’

Johnson’s face lit up. ‘Ah do, Colonel. This is ’er ’ere.’ He indicated a bay mare, about fifteen hands two.

Lord George took a closer look. ‘I’d have her myself, Johnson.’

‘Ay, Colonel. She’s a good’n.’

‘Well then,’ said Lord George, turning. ‘Let us continue. Thank you, Johnson, for your candour.’

‘Ay, all right, Colonel.’ Johnson put his feet together, braced himself vigorously, and passably well, and saluted.

As they walked away, Edmonds saw a smile on Lord George’s face.

‘I have seen no lack of spirit so far.’

‘I think that is a fair representation of the regiment as a whole, Colonel, though Johnson, I must say, is singular.’

‘I am sorry to hear it! By the way, the regiment salutes with the hand when hatless, or was that just Private Johnson?’

‘It does.’

‘Good. Where do we go now?’

‘The other troop lines, Colonel.’

Lord George halted. ‘No, I think that if the horses are of the same stamp there is no need. I think I would see the stores.’

‘Very well. But I fear they are misnamed, for there’s barely an item within.’

‘Well, I may speak to the storekeeper, I suppose,’ Lord George replied, smiling still, appreciative of his major’s drollness. ‘Now, tell me what I should know of the subalterns.’

Edmonds made a sort of face. What to say? ‘I imagine they are no better or worse than elsewhere. One or two of them have the makings. Martyn, Lankester’s lieutenant, is capable. So is Darrington, the Duke of Sheffield’s son, but he has bid for a troop in the Fifteenth. And Conway knows what he’s about. The cornets have capability; very pleasing some of them. Hervey has a commendation from Robert Long. He galloped for him at Corunna.’

‘And what of the quartermasters?’

‘The serjeant-major’s time is up; he’ll have his discharge. He’s done all he can, and that well, but there’s not a commission for him. He’ll go to the yeomanry.’

‘There is a suitable replacement, I trust?’

‘Senior quartermaster is Lincoln, D Troop. They don’t come better.’

Lord George looked content. ‘Then what would you have me decide for the rest?’

Edmonds shook his head. ‘Nothing. In that respect the last three months have decided things. But as you perceive, there are no horses, and there’s a want of dragoons. We must get back into the saddle; that is all.’

Lord George took mental note again. He considered himself fortunate indeed to have a second in command of such vigour and address. The regiment had bottom – he knew so by its reputation and from what he had seen and heard in one hour this morning – but it would require a prodigious investment, not a little of which would have to be his own. He intended losing no time in its restoration.

For his part, Joseph Edmonds considered himself and the regiment fortunate to have a new executive officer with such credentials and – from what he could judge in one hour – manifest decency. Colonel Reynell he had held in high regard, as much for his humanity as his aptitude. His handling of the regiment at Benavente had been masterly, but to Edmonds’s mind there had always been something other-worldly in Reynell. He thought it his undoing, in fact. Reynell had pulled the regiment through to Corunna with but a handful of delinquencies when others could count theirs in dozens. The orders to destroy the horses had been grievous – no one doubted it – but they had been Sir John Moore’s, and in the grim logic of that wretched campaign they made sense. Why, therefore, had Reynell had to put a pistol to his head? What was the dishonour awaiting him? None; none at all. Indeed, he might have expected some recognition, for there was clamour enough for heads, and the Horse Guards would want
some
heroes to parade. They were where they were, however, and they had the Marquess of Tain’s younger son, with the reputation as the coolest head in Flanders, and known to be on the best of terms with the Duke of York. He, Joseph Edmonds, could not –
must
not – fret that Lord George Irvine was a dozen years his junior.

‘Will you dine in mess this evening, Colonel?’

Lord George halted. ‘Indeed I shall, if you will dine too.’

‘But of course, Colonel!’

Lord George smiled. ‘Edmonds, before I left Lord Sussex’s I had formed an opinion that your experience in this regiment was unrivalled. And at my club I met a man who said there had not been a better troop-leader in Spain.’

Edmonds’s brow furrowed. ‘Who—’

Lord George half frowned. ‘You would not have me divulge a club confidence?’

Edmonds had no acquaintance with the clubs of which Lord George Irvine was an habitué. He shook his head, annoyed with himself. ‘No, Colonel, indeed not.’

Lord George smiled. ‘Forgive me, Edmonds. It should be no secret. It was Paget himself.’

‘Paget?’ There could be no greater accolade than from the commander of Moore’s cavalry. ‘I—’

‘No modesty, Edmonds. He said your handling of the troop at Sahagun was exemplary, and afterwards, at Corunna, the regiment.’

In truth, Edmonds intended no modesty, only surprise that anyone took note of anything unless it were done by somebody’s son. ‘I am obliged, Colonel.’ He even thought he might relay it to Margaret.

It was not the new lieutenant-colonel’s easy manner and air of capability at mess on the first evening that impressed itself on the young Cornet Hervey so much as his activity in the weeks that followed, and above all his address to the officers six weeks after his arriving. At mess that first evening, when Lord George had spoken a few words to the officers informally before dinner, there had at once arisen a universal sense of satisfaction in having a commanding officer who might secure for them their proper prestige. But none of them had imagined the practical use to which Lord George would put his standing. When, but one and a half months after first driving through the gates of their Canterbury depot, he called them together again, no one but Edmonds had the remotest inkling of the announcement he would make.

‘Gentlemen, I have news that will stir your hearts!’ Lord George began, smiling as if he were going to declare that Bonaparte himself was clapped in irons in the regimental jail. ‘The government is to send a second expedition to Portugal.’

This was scarcely surprising news, but it caused exactly the hubbub he had calculated. He would now raise it by degrees. ‘And the general commanding shall be Sir Arthur Wellesley!’

There was cheering. None of them knew Wellesley, save that he had a good reputation from India, and Denmark, and of course Vimiero, the battle they had missed; but there had to be
some
bravado (and there were precious few other names). Joseph Edmonds permitted himself a sigh before resolving that he could not –
must
not – fret that Lieutenant-General Sir Arthur Wellesley was but his own age.

Lord George held up a hand. The room was hushed. ‘And, gentlemen, I am delighted to be able to tell you that the Sixth shall accompany the force to Lisbon without delay!’

Silence
: the whole room was stunned. And then came the whoops, and more cheering. Only two weeks ago, the notion of their going back to Portugal would have been impossible. No one would have laid a guinea at 100–1 that by this day the regiment would be remounted and up to sabre strength – and warned for active duty. What might not money and influence achieve, even in these times! The colonel’s zeal, they had all seen for themselves; exactly how much money he had laid out, they could only guess. And they did so with much admiration.

‘Who shall command the cavalry, Colonel?’

‘Not Paget,’ whispered Cornet Laming to Hervey. He had come down from London that afternoon, but too late to tattle before they were assembled, which vexed him somewhat, for although he had beaten Hervey to the troop by but a month, he enjoyed the superiority it gave him.

‘Do you know who, Laming?’ whispered Hervey in obliging awe, but incurring a frown from the adjutant.

Lord George finished his studied sip of wine. ‘Sir Stapleton Cotton, I believe.’

When they were dismissed, Laming was able to relay his intelligence fully. ‘Paget has eloped with Wellesley’s sister-in-law! Run off with her in a whiskey from clean under his brother’s nose!’

Hervey hardly knew what to say. Lord Paget had seemed so . . .
complete
a soldier that he could scarce imagine him in any other guise.

‘A damned fool, they say in Brooks’s – throwing away his chance of command thus. But you must concede, Hervey, with what cavalry style did he do it!’

‘London must indeed be scandalized,’ said Hervey, dryly, though he must picture it only, for he had yet to visit.