A Call To Arms (18 page)

‘I might have done the same,’ said Canon Hervey.

‘And I, too, Archdeacon,’ added Mr Keble supportively. Elizabeth frowned at them both.

Her brother, emboldened, warmed to his story. ‘Soon afterwards the same happened to someone with a mandolin, and then there came someone else who fell straightway onto his nose and there was blood all over his robe. The hooting and catcalls were so bad that Signor Rossini fled the orchestra and the whole thing was abandoned. We had our money back and went to a firework display instead.’

‘Which Matthew liked because it looked as though the castle there was under siege. I tell you, Papa, he has no appreciation of anything but the sound of the trumpet and the thunder of the captains!’

‘And the shouting?’ added John Keble.

‘Oh, I should imagine
especially
the shouting, Mr Keble!’

After dinner Hervey and Keble walked together in the garden. There was a full moon, and it was warm. ‘Not unlike an evening in India, I should suppose,’ said Keble, looking up at the sky. ‘And the stars will be the same in those latitudes, no doubt.’

‘Yes, I believe you are right. Though I shall be further north this time, in Hindoostan.’

‘And Georgiana: she will remain here, with your sister?’

Hervey did not reply at once. There were so many things he
might say to qualify the simple ‘yes’. ‘I confess it will be harder than I ever supposed. She is no longer a mere babe in arms.’

‘She will have a Christian upbringing. That is more than most, I fear.’

‘I’ve settled all Henrietta’s property in trust to her. I was intending to ask if you might consent to be a trustee.’

‘I am honoured.’

‘It would mean your going to the attorney’s in Warminster tomorrow.’

‘I see no objection in that.’

‘You are very good. And to my father too. He prizes your counsel highly, you know.’

‘Hervey, your father has nigh on forty years’ cure of souls, and I scarcely a tenth of that. My counsel, as you put it, can in his respect only ever be from a standpoint of theory.’

‘Well, without experience, theory is the only resort.’

‘That seems a good military precept. Will you write to me from India? Does the regiment take a chaplain there? I fear I do not know who is to be this new bishop in Calcutta.’

‘I shall indeed write. I don’t know whether we take a chaplain, nor even whether it is a good or a bad thing; their quality is little admired. We have spoken of this before, you and I.’

John Keble stopped and turned full towards him. ‘You must be steadfast in your daily prayers, my good friend. Now of all times. I do not ask if you are.’

Hervey sighed to himself. It was just as well that Keble did not.

Hounslow, a month later

‘Well, Sar’nt-Major – we have a troop orderly room and an acquittance roll, and scarcely more than a quarter-guard’s-worth of names to enter on it.’

Troop Serjeant-Major Armstrong huffed. ‘Them bringers have been about as useful as a sewn-up arse! I’ve a mind to go down there meself.’

‘Twenty-two in all. Not bad-looking men on the whole. And six that can read and write. At least the bringers’ve not been sweeping the gutters.’

‘We might have to do that yet, sir,’ said Armstrong. ‘If we leave for India under strength it’ll be a year before the depot troop can send us the rest. I reckon we’d be broken up inside that time.’

‘I well know it, Sar’nt-Major. And I’m not sure I want every man that elects to stay from the regiment that’s leaving. Half a dozen, maybe, but more would be a veritable combination.’

‘They do say a married man in India’s a better soldier. But I’d take some convincing.’

Hervey allowed himself a smile. ‘I’d not trade you for a singleton, Sar’nt-Major.’

‘And in truth, sir, I wouldn’t ever want to be one – not even to be shaved in bed of a morning like them char-wallahs do.’

‘I thought char-wallahs brought them tea, don’t they?’

‘Probably that an’ all.’

‘A punkah-wallah cools them with a fan, as I remember …’

‘Well, if we don’t get active, sir, they’ll be fanning empty beds. I’d like to send Collins into London today. He’s a good eye.’

‘That I grant you, but London’s yielded up precious few to the regimental parties.’

‘We won’t get the best there, that’s for sure. But I don’t see as we’ve time to be traipsing round the county looking for likely men. And sure as hell we don’t want to take any as is paying with the drum.’

‘Well, at any rate, not any that have a large payment to make. The odd fellow who’s fallen foul of the bench of a Saturday night oughtn’t to be too much of a problem.’

Hervey knew that his serjeant-major was not wholly convinced of the corrective qualities of soldiering. Despite his rough and ready ways, his quick temper and his fondness for a drink, Armstrong held strongly to the notion that character would out as soon as the guns began to play. In the infantry this did not matter so much, for the bad characters were held in line by the NCOs close by them, and all the line had to do was wheel and form and deliver volley-fire on command. In the cavalry it was not so easy. A dragoon was much more upon his honour as regards his horse, doing outpost duty and going to it with the sword. A rough could be redeemed by military discipline, but a bad hat – never. And the trick was always to know which was the one and not the other.

Hervey observed closely as his serjeant-major took up the acquittance roll again and began examining the names. Armstrong’s new uniform fitted handsomely, showing off the barrel chest and powerful arms that had made him so formidable a fighter in a mêlée. The regiment would not have been the same without him. And how good did that fourth chevron look – at last.

‘Do you want to see those as came in yesterday, sir?’

Hervey did, so they walked to the pump in the yard outside E Troop’s empty stables, where dragoons were throwing buckets of
water over half a dozen brought men. It would have been the same in the depths of winter, and the dragoons went at it with a will, since they had no wish to share the lice and other vermin which recruits brought with them.

‘Why ay,’ exclaimed Armstrong suddenly. ‘Corporal Mossop, fetch that red-’eaded man over here.’

Mossop half dragged the man in front of the serjeant-major; trying to march him over would have taken all day. ‘Sir!’

‘Turn ’im about, Corporal!’

Corporal Mossop knew the order would be pointless. He jerked him round to face rear.

Armstrong pulled the man’s long red hair roughly to one side. ‘I thought as much!’ he snarled.

Hervey, too, saw the ‘BC’ brand on his shoulder.

‘Why can’t them bringers look properly? About turn!’ he barked.

The man spun right-about like a top, ending up with his hands at attention by his side and his eyes set distant, exactly as if on parade.

‘And what might your former service be, my bonny lad?’

The man’s voice faltered. ‘Six years, sir. Thirty-fourth Foot.’

‘And why did the Thirty-fourth discharge you?’

‘Rather not say, sir.’

‘ “Rather not say.” I
bet
you wouldn’t.’ He turned to Hervey. ‘Sir?’

Hervey knew his serjeant-major wanted him to say ‘Throw him out of the gates’, for that was what the army intended when it branded a man ‘bad character’. But he recoiled more from the notion of branding than from the letters themselves. ‘Can we not see how he goes to his work while we try to find out why he was discharged?’

Armstrong suppressed a sigh. ‘I wouldn’t want him messing with the others to begin with, sir.’

‘He can sleep in the guardroom, can he not?’

‘He can, sir. Corporal Mossop, double this man away. I want an eye on him at all times.’

‘Sir!’

‘Not a good beginning,’ said Hervey. ‘How did you know to look for a brand? There were no lash marks.’

‘Just an instinct, that’s all, but I only thought there might be a “D”.’

‘Trying it on for the bounty?’

‘Ay. There was a man ’anged not six months back for it. Deserted and then ’listed again eighteen times before he was discovered.’

‘Well, five pounds and four shillings is an attractive bounty. But I wonder that someone on the take doesn’t go to the infantry for the other guinea.’

‘Maybe we’ve a soft name, sir.’

Hervey frowned. ‘Yes, we’ve both of us seen men who thought they were enlisting to an easier life because they rode to battle rather than walked.’

Armstrong screwed up his face. ‘But I’ll ’ave that bastard if ’e does prove a bad character. And I’ll ’ave that Mary-Anne –
Mossop
– for not being sharper. I’ll stop his bringing-money, that’s for certain.’

Hervey was beginning to wonder if one more recruit was worth the trouble. ‘The others look clean-limbed. You can’t fault Corporal Mossop for that.’

‘Ay. They do right enough. Yon dragoon!’ he shouted.

A smart-looking private man doubled over to them and saluted. ‘Sir?’

‘Who are you, lad?’

‘Ashbolt, sir. C Troop.’

The keen eyes said it all. Hervey sighed to himself. He wished he had twenty like him.

‘Well, when you’ve finished dusting them with that evil-smelling powder, line them up for inspection.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Ashbolt saluted and doubled away.

In as straight a line as the keen eyes could manage with them, the six recruits stood as upright as they could.

‘Name!’ barked Armstrong at the first, a well-made lad.

‘Harkness, sir.’

‘Work?’

‘Cooper, sir. Then there was insufficient so I was laid off.’ Broad shoulders told that he must have been useful when work there was.

‘Read or write?’

‘I can read a little, if you please.’

‘No “if you please”, lad: just plain “sir”.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘And that “sir” is addressed not to me but to the officer on parade.’

Harkness looked confused.

‘You’ll learn soon enough,’ said Armstrong, moving to the next. ‘Name?’

‘French, sir.’

‘I’d change that quickly if I were you, lad.’

‘Please, sir?’

‘Never mind. Work?’

‘Counting-house clerk, sir.’

‘Lost your character, did you?’

‘
No
, sir.’ The boy – for that was all he looked – sounded indignant. His black curls bobbed as he shook his head. ‘I didn’t like the city, sir.’

‘Country, are you? Do you know horses?’

‘I’ve driven a pair, sir.’ His voice was not of the common stamp. Armstrong eyed him suspiciously and moved to the third. ‘Name?’

‘Smith, sir.’

‘Oh yes?’

‘Yes, sir. I was a boiler with the Oakley. I have a testimony from Lord Tavistock, sir.’

‘Why did you leave?’

‘I wanted to ’list in the horse guards, sir. But they said I was too short, sir.’

‘Read and write?’

‘No, sir.’

Armstrong turned to the next. ‘
Your
name, lad.’

‘Sisken, sir.’ The words were barely audible.

Armstrong looked down at the spreading pool by the man’s left foot. ‘Good,’ he said simply, and moved on.

‘Name?’

‘McCarthy, sor.’

Hervey looked closer. Armstrong continued: ‘Employ?’

‘Private man, Hundred and fourth Foot, sor.’

Armstrong’s suspicions rose like storm cones.

‘I had my honourable discharge, sor,’ the man insisted, the gentle Cork lilt now plain.

‘The Hundred and fourth were disbanded two years ago,
Sar’nt-Major,’ explained Hervey, stepping forward a pace. ‘We have met before, have we not, McCarthy?’

‘We have, sor.’

Armstrong looked at Hervey for enlightenment.