A Regimental Affair (48 page)

The one man whose advice would be a tempered affair of good sense and sound military judgement was Armstrong. And yet Hervey could not bring himself to ask it for two reasons. Armstrong’s standing in the regiment was high, yet the merest whiff of perfidy – even if by association only – would have the lieutenant colonel exact a terrible price from him. Secondly (and it was the mark of a shrewdness which would have been wanting even a year ago), if Hervey were indeed to take command of the regiment at some early stage, he did not wish to have an Armstrong who had somehow been involved with that process. It was an antique suspicion; the same, indeed, that had dogged the Praetorians. But he was sure his classicals served him well in this regard.

He had told Henrietta, of course. She had laughed, and said that at least he would be able to make the decisions for himself if the commanding officer insisted on taking to the rear. He had remonstrated with her, but she had not been in a mood for the woes of the Sixth. Why, indeed, should she be? Even though she had formerly insisted that he tell her all, she had her child at her breast, had she not?

And now there was baptism to be done in another half an hour, and Henrietta was in some distress, for she had become so big about the bust that her coat would not fasten well. Ruth was working some small miracle with pins and thread, while the nurse – seconded from the Maitlands – stood ready with the sleeping infant. Mr Shepherd had made the concession that the ministration need not be of a Sunday, on account of the availability of the godparents or those by proxy, but he had made no concession to the weather, and therefore the place, which was why they were now preparing for another sally into the bitter cold.

Once at the church, though, they were glad of the weather, for they might have been at Horningsham, so peaceful was it. The incumbent, Dr Strachan, who had lately distinguished himself during the occupation of the town by the enemy’s forces,
conducted the service in the warm and gentle tones of Aberdeen. This was much to Hervey’s and Henrietta’s satisfaction, for the drier and remoter tones of Oxford, had Mr Shepherd officiated throughout rather than merely delivering a short homily, would only have made things seem more chill.

The godparents or their proxies stood eager for their duty. Henrietta had known
her
duty in this regard, and was well pleased with the choice. John Keble had been her husband’s choice of godfather for many months. He had been canvassed early, and had responded in the way that perhaps only he, of all their acquaintances, might. It was true that Henrietta would not have chosen him herself, but in the case of there being a son, the second godfather was to have been William Devonshire (and in the case of a daughter it could not matter a great deal anyway). Her husband was content – that was the important thing – and Seton Canning was standing impeccable proxy for Mr Keble. As for the godmothers, Henrietta’s first intent had been bitterly thwarted by Princess Charlotte’s death (indeed, her thought to call her daughter the same now seemed less appealing). The second godmother had long been arranged: Lady Camilla Cavendish, who would serve as well as William Devonshire would to a son. Lady Mary Bagot stood proxy. And in place of Princess Charlotte, Henrietta had asked Sarah Maitland. A Lennox, even one who had made an improvident match (all society knew the Duke of Richmond’s opinion of his daughter’s choice), would always be an apt supporter.

And so, the prayers and promises done and the godparents having certified, as they were required by the Prayer Book, that ‘the Child may well endure it’, Dr Strachan dipped his charge ‘discreetly and warily’ into the water, and declared, ‘Georgiana Charlotte Sarah Elizabeth, I baptize thee in the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.’

Afterwards they sat down to a dinner which would not have dishonoured Longleat. The Maitlands’ chef had at his call fish of the first quality, goose both wild and fattened, and all the ice he could ever wish for to prepare his confections. And Hervey had laid in champagne, hock, burgundy and good tawny before they had left England. The hour was very late, the cigars were making the air
thick, and Hervey had not thought once in three hours of his disagreeable commanding officer, when a note from Major Lawrence was handed to him. It read, ‘Please be so good as to come to my office the very first thing tomorrow so that I may apprise you of orders just received from Quebec.’

‘No reply, Johnson,’ he said, taking a long draw on his cigar.

Johnson retired silently with the tray like a seasoned footman.

Hervey sighed to himself:
orders just received
. This was his life, and the interludes of domesticity were always going to be hostage to the Horse Guards’ will. But now, of all times, he thought himself deserving of a little peace.

‘Hervey, there are times, let me tell you, when I wonder if our masters in London do not believe that America is any more a foreign part than . . . well, Wales!’

Hervey smiled half-heartedly. He had had little sleep that night; he had even arrived at the Indian office before Major Lawrence. He felt himself in no position to judge the superintendent’s proposition, besides which, he was not entirely sure to which masters in London he referred.

‘I would have said Ireland rather than Wales,’ continued Lawrence. ‘But I do believe there is a greater readiness to see the native condition of that place than there is here.’

It was a moot point, and ordinarily Hervey would have liked to debate it.

‘It’s the same in every department, Hervey. The War Office never fails to misunderstand the nature of the country. The Admiralty’s no better, mind. D’you know that when the war of 1812 began, they sent out great coppers to the shipyards here for the men-o’-war on the Lakes to store water in?’

Hervey’s blank response was evidence that Lawrence’s point had escaped him.

‘They’re the largest sweetwater lakes in the world, Hervey!’

‘Oh, yes, of course.’

‘It’s no shame that
you
do not twig the matter, but one might expect more of their lordships. And now the Foreign Secretary instructs,’ Lawrence read from a sheet of paper, ‘that we “render every assistance to the forces of the United States in the suppression of the Indian resistance on their western frontier”!’

Hervey thought for a moment, puzzled by the vehemence of the superintendent’s opposition. ‘Is that so wholly bad?’

‘Hervey, did you hear
anything
I said when last we spoke? Our relations with the Indians in Upper Canada have on the whole been happy – the result of prudent policies. But of late the relations have been tried by any number of little things. If we take a hand against the nations in the United States – whether they be enemies of the Canada nations or no – there are bound to be consequences, ructions.’ He raked the stove vigorously to let the wood ash fall and the flames have more updraught. ‘Since the affair at Niagara – the
two
affairs at Niagara, I might add, now that your commanding officer has entered the lists – the Indians do not trust us as before. The Six Nations, especially, believe we will sell them cheap at some time in the future. This is the very worst thing we could be doing. And it comes from ill-advised folk in London with not a notion of the frontier – or, indeed, a care.’

The lament of a field officer that London did not know or care was not new to Hervey. He had heard it in much the same measure in the Peninsula, and lately in India. But Lawrence’s tone was unusually strident. ‘I don’t really understand why the United States should
need
our help, anyway,’ he replied, shaking his head. ‘Let’s be frank: their army worsted ours at New Orleans.’

‘Ah,’ nodded Lawrence, as if what he was going to say would entirely prove his contention. ‘Their army consists now of infantry, artillery and engineers. They have no cavalry.’

‘What?’ said Hervey, unable to conceive such a thing was possible. ‘You mean none at all?’

‘No, none at all. They stood ’em all down two years ago, as soon as the war was ended.’ Rattled though he was, Lawrence could still manage a smile: ‘Dear stuff, cavalry!’

‘The want is evidently
costing
them dear at present. And is that what we are to do? Send them cavalry?’

‘Yes, that is what they’ve asked for. To Detroit, to be precise.’

‘Where is that?’

Lawrence pointed on the map.

‘But that’s two hundred miles, by the look of it.’

‘A little more, although the road is good. But at this time of year the going will be hard, to say the least. Now look, the DAAG agreed to let me tell you of the situation and mission in general
terms, and then he will discuss with you whatever detail you feel is unsettled. He’s having a copy of the commander-in-chief’s orders made, detailing the limits of your intervention – which, I am sorry to say, do not seem great.’

Hervey nodded. ‘Very well. Who are these Indians who give the Americans so much trouble?’

Lawrence put more wood into the stove. ‘You recall what I said before about the disparate treatment of the nations by ourselves and the Americans?’

‘Yes, in broad terms.’

‘The Shawanese are one of their trickiest problems in this respect. They’re a Tennessee and Ohio nation, and they fought the colonists there tooth and claw. Then the authorities made various deals with them, and served them very ill indeed, and now they’re pretty well rootless. They broke up into any number of groups last century. Some moved to the Carolinas, some west, some northeast. But one of the groups was with Tecumseh, and they were dealt with very sorely by the Americans just a year before the war began – at a place called Tippecanoe River. They broke up their settlements while the braves were away. The name’s enough to make a Shawanese boil now. It seems they’re implacably opposed to any further treating with the American Indian Department.’ Lawrence paused to light a cheroot.

Hervey was already taking notes. ‘How warlike a tribe are they? In nature, I mean.’

The superintendent took a long draw, and sighed. ‘Well, who knows? The guts may have been knocked out of them these past three or four years. But I’ll say this: the Shawanese were consistently the most warlike in first opposing white settlement. I think they’re a very embittered nation, now – not given to parley. And any embittered Indian can be a fearsome warrior. There’s a group trying to move up into Michigan, perhaps across the border even. The Shawanese are Algonkians, not Iroquois, but since the war they’ve felt they had more in common than held them apart. I believe the Six Nations would allow them space. We’re not talking of many hundreds, after all.’

Hervey listened for another half-hour, making copious notes, taking down suggestions, asking any and every detail. By the end he was reassured that he had a picture that would serve him well,
though he suspected that ultimately his orders would hardly permit much discretion. It was a great comfort to know that the superintendent himself would come with him to Detroit, even if only for a few days.

Henrietta bore the news as well as she had that of Hervey’s patrol to Niagara, although here was a mission of perhaps months rather than a week. She said, very assuredly, that as soon as it was apt she would travel to Detroit to be with him. How Caithlin Armstrong received the news Hervey did not know. It troubled him to be putting husband and wife asunder at such a time, and he had even thought of leaving Serjeant Armstrong at Fort York in charge of rear details. But that would have been irregular, and Armstrong would never have had it anyway.

Hervey’s orders specified not fewer than fifty sabres, and that taxed the troop sorely, what with sickness and general duties, but he managed to draft something that would serve. He gave over the orders to Seton Canning the next morning, and then took two days alone with his wife and daughter while the troop made ready. He imagined, too, that he would know by the end of this brief furlough what was to be done respecting Lord Towcester – what he, Hervey, must do, for it was clear now that nothing would happen except by his own hand. And throughout he prayed that the lieutenant colonel would not return before they left for Detroit.

Only the second prayer seemed to be answered. Lord Towcester was detained in Quebec, and there was peace about Fort York. But Hervey had been unable to see any proper course respecting the lieutenant colonel’s fitness for command. Do something he must, however, and so in the last hour of his furlough he had taken pen and paper, and written his submission as fully as he was able.

He now read his submission aloud to Henrietta, and to his surprise, she thought it well. He read her the letter once more so that there could be no mistaking his intention.

‘Matthew, it will be well, I tell you. General Rolt is by all accounts a sensible man. He will know that a subordinate officer would not make such complaint without the gravest cause.’

Hervey nodded.

‘I do wish you would let me speak to Sarah Maitland, though. She would—’

‘No,’ said Hervey, gently but emphatically. ‘There must be no cause for Lord Towcester to claim that anyone is scheming against him. General Rolt would very properly sympathize with him if he were persuaded that there had been scheming.’

‘As you wish, my love,’ she smiled. And then she took his hand and kissed his cheek. ‘Shall you look in the nursery once more before you go?’

Their daughter was sleeping. Her eyes were bluer and bigger, and her hair more abundant still. Georgiana had the look of her mother, and Hervey could scarcely comprehend it. He could only feel it, deep in his vitals – the force, the obligation, that was paternity.