A Call To Arms (23 page)

The archdeacon took off his spectacles and shook his head. ‘By any standard, taken as a whole these are repressive measures, though three are reasonable in themselves, I suppose.’

Hervey assented with a nod. ‘Daniel Coates told me that Lord Bath intends proposing a measure to form veterans’ battalions to act as police.’

‘Well, that has merit, for they would be men used to discipline,’ declared Canon Hervey, replacing his spectacles and taking up the newspaper again. ‘Ah,’ he said, after reading more. ‘Lord Bath is to embody the Warminster Troop.’

‘That won’t be greeted well in some parts, but it’s only prudent. The Hindon people are a combative bunch, by all accounts. I shall be happier leaving you knowing there are a few sabres about the place, even if they
are
yeomanry.’

Canon Hervey looked thoughtful. But he withheld any fears for the peace of the parish and his family’s safety. ‘We shall see you again before you embark, Matthew?’

‘You may depend upon it, Father.’ Then he frowned. ‘And it will be very much harder than ever before.’

Canon Hervey nodded, and rose. ‘And not only for you, Matthew. Will you come to evening prayer?’

Hervey stood, but his brow was still furrowed. ‘I beg you would excuse me this once, Father. There are things I ought to be about.’

*

Hervey sat for a half-hour, alone, when his father was gone. The house was silent but for the ticking of two clocks, and there was nothing but his thoughts to disturb him.
Five years
. The house would not change in that time. The garden, perhaps – a branch fallen here and there, plantings come to maturity. His parents? It were better not to imagine. Elizabeth? He became fearful. And Georgiana? He rose hesitantly, then hurried to the stables.

In a quarter of an hour he was at Longleat. He entered the house unannounced and went to the nursery. The door was open but, hearing the sounds within, he stood to one side to observe without being seen. Elizabeth sat with her face half-turned from the door, contented-looking, happy even. Georgiana shuffled towards her on a little wheeled horse, gripping its woollen mane, her nursemaid by her side ready to support with an outstretched hand. The child giggled when she reached Elizabeth, and threw her head back. Hervey swallowed hard. He had never imagined he might look on alone like this. Next time, when he returned from India, the horse would not have wheels. Georgiana might even be free of the leading rein. And he would have missed all of it. And he had not imagined, until now, what it was that he would miss.

Hounslow, three weeks later

‘Keep them ’eels
down
!’ bellowed the rough-rider serjeant at the six recruits as they attempted to complete a circuit of the riding school without stirrups. ‘A sack of flour’d look better in yon saddles!’ The old commands, the old quips – Hervey smiled to himself as he left the school and walked to regimental headquarters. In another five months the riding master and his staff would make dragoons of these greenheads, as they had done many times before.

The trouble was, they didn’t have five months. In seven weeks they were due to sail for Calcutta, and there would be little they could do aboard ship by way of training save for musketry and sword practice. He would land with a half-drilled troop, at best.

‘But that should not trouble you,’ said the commanding officer, indicating a chair and pouring two glasses of sherry. ‘You have done admirably in filling the ranks. I had not thought it would be so difficult. The adjutant’s efforts in that direction were commendable, but his bringers netted a very feeble catch in the end. And your enlisting so many from one town must be a strength, I think. There ought to be a quicker fellow feeling.’

‘I believe there will be, Colonel. And three of them are already showing well – one that is paying with the drum, too, though it was scarcely much of an offence.’

Sir Ivo Lankester nodded approvingly. ‘You’ll have time enough when we get to India. I’ll not expect your troop at regimental drill for a full six months.’

‘That will be sufficient, Colonel. They’ll come on capitally as soon as they’ve passed out of riding school.’

‘Good, good. How many have you lost, by the way?’

‘One only, sir. He coughed up blood each time they did anything strenuous.’

Lankester sighed. ‘He’ll be dead sooner outside than in, but it can’t be helped. Now, I’m afraid I’m going to ask you to do one more thing, and it’s only right that
I
should ask and not Joynson, since it is my notion and it may vex you to be distracted by it.’

The commanding officer’s courtesy was such that Hervey was already disarmed. What could possibly vex him?

‘I have decided that we shall take three dozen or so troop-horses to India, as well as all the chargers. I want the non-commissioned officers to be properly mounted. I know it will be a month at least before they’re used to the climate, but better in the long run we begin with a well-mannered horse out of condition than what the Indian garrison might leave us.’

‘I saw some fine horses in India, Colonel, but I agree there is no certainty of our having them at once.’

‘It seems to me that the whole business will come to nought, however, if the horses don’t travel well. Lord knows how many you and I have seen that were served ill by foul transports.’

‘Indeed, Colonel.’

‘Barrow says you took your charger there and back.’

Hervey smiled. ‘I did. We sailed both ways in a frigate, with an uncommonly obliging captain.’

‘Then you will know better than any what is to be done to a ship to make her fit to transport horses over so great a distance. And I should very much deem it a favour if you would supervise the making ready of the Indiamen which are to take us. As I understand it, they’ll be at Tilbury in a fortnight’s time for refitting.’

Hervey saw now why the colonel had been so concerned to make
the approach himself, for Tilbury took him away from his troop – such that it could be called at this stage – but also, and more important, from his family in Horningsham. Yet the military necessity Colonel Lankester had spelled out with perfect sense, and it was to Hervey’s advantage, too, that his own charger be carried in best condition. ‘Of course I shall be able to do it, Colonel …’

‘I know you would have liked a lengthy furlough before embarkation – as the rest of us – but there is no reason why you should not take leave when the job is done, and make the passage by a later ship.’

Hervey was much encouraged by the commanding officer’s solicitude. ‘Thank you, Colonel. I am mighty grateful, but unless something untoward occurs, I should want to sail with the others. Besides ought else, Calcutta will be’ – he smiled – ‘a heady place, I think, and if I am not there with my troop from the outset all manner of things might happen.’

‘Admirable, Hervey, admirable. I should not have thought of you any the less, however, had you opted for the other course. And if circumstances change between now and then you must adjust your plan without fear that any shall think ill of it.’

‘Again, thank you, Colonel.’

‘Well, then – let us to the mess. Joynson says he has found some very fine burgundy, and there’s woodcock. The general will be joining us.’

Next morning, as he was busying himself for the journey to Tilbury, Hervey received an envelope bearing, on the reverse, an embossed ducal coronet. Inside was a double-thick demi-octavo card:

Field Marshal The Rt. Hon. The Duke of Wellington
requests the pleasure of the company of

Captain Matthew Hervey

at Dinner

at Apsley House on 23rd September 1819 at 7 o’clock p.m.

Hervey wrote at once to accept, sent for Private Johnson to
arrange despatch of the letter, and then took the regimental phaeton to the Red Lion in order to post to Tilbury.

His journey, overnight, was a not altogether comfortable affair, but on arriving at the port he was soon restored by the arrangements he found. The Honourable East India Company, being an institution of longer lineage than the army, had at least as many regulations, but as it was a company of merchants, the purpose to which all the regulations were drawn up was commercial. The arrangements put in hand by the Company for the regiment’s shipping to India – for it was the Court of Directors who paid the costs of a King’s regiment in India – were, in the main, sound. Two good-sized ships had been engaged, one for the major part of the regiment, the other for the horses and their attendants. But the surplus capacity was to be filled by general merchandise, and therefore any additional space requested meant a corresponding diminution of that profitable extra – not a matter the agent would be inclined to let pass easily.

Hervey asked if he might first look over the transport assigned to the horses. This was arranged without too much difficulty, although the captain was not in port and all questions were therefore dealt with by the first officer, who was clearly in fear of his master’s wrath. She seemed a well-found ship, and clean. Hervey asked if he might see the plans for the stallage.

‘I think you will find they comply with the horse guards’ usual requirements,’ said the agent.

Hervey did not know the regulation size of a stall. Those he had seen in the Peninsula hardly seemed to have the stamp of any sort of order.

‘Six feet by two feet six is the allowance. Here is the plan for the lower deck, which is where they are all to be had.’

Hervey sighed to himself. Jessye had had twelve feet square on the
Nisus
. He studied the plan carefully. ‘I see there is a gangway between the backs of the stalls and the side of the ship.’

‘Yes,’ replied the agent, without needing to check the drawing. ‘Two feet, as specified, in order to permit of cleaning out droppings and soiled bedding.’

Hervey considered how best to make his proposal. ‘When I took my mare to India, she had a loose box which could be turned into
a standing stall in case of foul weather. But we soon found that she chafed badly, fore and rear, as the ship rolled. So we let her have her full length back and trusted to her own balance – and she did not suffer in the slightest. I think it would be very much the better for them if we did away with the gangway and extended the stalls to the side. It would be cheaper to build that way too, I would think.’

The agent heard this last with interest, but then remembered the regulation. ‘My understanding is that the gangway is absolutely necessary to do the work of cleaning, Captain Hervey.’

‘Not
absolutely
necessary. With a few free stalls in each section it is perfectly possible to move the horse and then muck his stall. That would be a matter for the regiment. You would not need to trouble yourself over it.’

‘Then so it shall be, Captain Hervey. Would these spare stalls need slings, too?’

‘None of the stalls need slings. They cause far more damage than good. Four or five only, for sick or injured horses. With the extra length of stall they’ll keep themselves up well enough, believe me.’

The agent was all delight at the further economy.

Hervey judged it the moment to drive the bargain a little harder in respect of the spare stalls. ‘Four per every twelve animals, then. And built so that they can be turned into one loose box. That way a sick horse may be allowed space to lie down and stretch.’

The agent checked the plans and agreed that it was not unreasonable.

The negotiation of gangway space in which to exercise proved a little harder, but the agent and the second officer saw how it could be done. Some of the orlop’s capacity had to be sacrificed (all of the hay would now be stored there rather than some on the horse deck), but the savings overall were still considerable. There were numerous details to be agreed, but both parties were well satisfied. Only the question of windsails and ventilating shafts was unresolved. Hervey judged it better to wait a little while: there were bound to be savings he could suggest to offset his demands in this direction.

And so, in the next few days, Hervey found himself as much afloat as ashore. It was not a disagreeable state, but six months at sea in an Indiaman would not be the same as being guest of a
frigate’s captain. He decided he must turn his thoughts to the day’s routine on the horse deck, and who best should be there, for without doubt Sir Ivo Lankester would next ask his opinion of that. The more he thought, however, and the more he wrote, the more he wished the six months could be past now. He had been gazetted captain since July, and still he could not rightly say he was returned to the saddle. This he would not be able to claim until they reached India, and even then only when he could take the head of his troop and have them wheeling and forming behind him as one body. In truth, he sighed, he would not be in the saddle before next year’s summer was out.