A Close Run Thing (39 page)

Hervey’s jaw fell. ‘I think that is the general idea,’ he replied in his astonishment. He had not meant to sound scornful, but Styles in any event seemed in no condition to detect scorn, intended or not.

‘Hervey, I am given command of a troop; I cannot do it!’

Hervey’s first instinct was to express himself not in the least surprised that Styles did not count himself able – that he was a pompous, self-important ass, that he was about to get his come-uppance and that it was no good whining now, having looked down his nose for so long. But, for all his desire finally to cut him down to size, Hervey hesitated (for what of the wretched troopers of the Life Guards, who were equally new to the battlefield and in need of steadying?). Instead he de-loped: ‘Of
course
you can do it, Styles. You are an experienced officer, and your men will follow you,’ he said staunchly, hoping he might sound convincing.

‘But that is it, you see,’ Styles returned quickly. ‘I cannot recollect myself; I do not know what I am about!’

Hervey suppressed another urge to speak sharply, to demand that Styles stop snivelling and take a hold of himself. Instead he continued with his quiet reassurance. ‘Styles, my dear fellow, that is how we all feel,’ he lied. ‘You will do your duty well enough; you
will
be capable, I tell you.’

‘Is that really so, Hervey? You, too, have doubts? Thank you,
thank you
.’ His eyes were now wild with
alarm
. ‘Let us dine together at Westbury when this is over. I shall tell Henrietta Lindsay of your composure!’

‘Yes, indeed, we shall dine together.’ Hervey knew it to be unlikely, and he cursed him in his heart for bringing Henrietta to mind. Styles would forget this exchange soon enough, he warranted. He was glad of the excuse to rejoin his troop when the squadron trumpeter sounded the trot.

The repeating ‘C’s of that call never failed to thrill. They spelled action. They signalled an urgency to close with the enemy, or to put some distance between them. And the snorting of the troop horses, who knew the call as well as their riders, and the jingling of bits added to the exhilaration. But this morning Hervey found no thrill. The flank was, by the rubrics of the drill-book, the appointed place for light cavalry, and he himself had recognized the wisdom of doubling to two brigades on this occasion, but he knew nevertheless that they were leaving the seat of action far behind, for Bonaparte would not attempt anything on
their
flank with the Prussians so close. Even the duke’s dispositions seemed to confirm it, for as they trotted along the road atop the ridge, bordered in places by thick, high hedges, or sunken by as much as a man’s height, he saw less and less of the familiar and reassuring red and more of the blue coats and orange facings of the allies: Wellington would not have so disposed his weakest forces had he expected them to face any determined action. Hervey’s heart sank further, yet he saw that the Dutch-Belgics were setting about the
position
with a will, cutting gaps in the hedges so that cavalry could pass through, digging out embrasures for the guns and making loopholes for the riflemen. They even cheered heartily as the Sixth rode by.

After three-quarters of a mile they reached their appointed place, opposite the hamlets of Papelotte and La Haye a few hundred yards across the valley to their right, and they executed a smart evolution from column into line, coming to a halt on the forward slope with the warm sun on their faces, Hervey’s troop in the second line forming the support to ‘B’. Lankester at once called him forward. ‘How do you suppose this conforms with the duke’s intentions?’ he asked.

The senior captain – and also, thereby, Edmonds’s second-in-command – was remarkably free from pride to enquire thus of his junior, thought Hervey. ‘I think it very exactly as the duke intended, sir,’ he replied. ‘See, in that scattering of farms below us – mark the roofs yonder – he intends disposing his Nassauers. They may be there this minute. And if you stand in the stirrups you can just see La Haye Sainte below the crossroads close where we bivouacked last night. That, he has garrisoned with some of the German Legion and the Rifles. We cannot see the château at Hougoumont, for it is perhaps a mile beyond the farm at La Haye Sainte. Here, see, I have a sketch of the position. The duke said that he intended to place four companies at least of the Guards there. And he will need to, for it will by now be nearer the French lines than our own.’

Lankester studied the sketch-map intently. ‘And there is nothing to our east but the Forest of Ohain?’

‘No,’ replied Hervey warily. ‘A couple of leagues or so beyond the forest will be the Prussians – on this side of the Dyle river, we must hope, for I believe the duke will want for a junction with them ere too long.’

It was still not eight o’clock, but everywhere steam was beginning to rise – from the ground, the horses, the saddlery; from the men themselves, and from the roofs of the dwellings in the hamlets hastily abandoned by their occupants and now garrisoned by the Duke of Saxe-Weimar’s Nassauers. Only a year or so ago these men had fought for Bonaparte, but Wellington must surely be confident of their steadfastness to trust them to such a position – even on this flank?

‘Would that
I
were able to find such faith,’ replied Lankester sceptically, and Hervey nodded as, with growing despair, he surveyed the sodden ground, a gun team nearby struggling fetlock-deep in mud to drag a nine-pounder along a rutted farmtrack.

Major-General Sir Hussey Vivian rode along the front of his brigade, calm, assured and exquisite in the hussar field dress of his old regiment, accompanied by his black trumpeter. That he ought, by regulation, to have been wearing general officer’s uniform mattered not to Vivian, who cared only, and jealously, for his hussar brigade. Even Lord Fitzroy Somerset, on the duke’s behalf, had chided him, as he had the other cavalry brigadiers, though to no avail, especially since
Uxbridge
himself insisted on wearing the dolman. But if Vivian was at all dismayed by the appending of the 6th Light Dragoons to the hussar brigade he had never once shown it: he had even placed them on the right of his line.

‘Good morning, General,’ said Lankester as the brigadier reached First Squadron, he and Hervey saluting together. ‘I think it may be another Toulouse for us, by all accounts.’

‘Ha!’ laughed Vivian, ‘you will recall that I was in a field hospital with a damned ball in my shoulder – along with Lord George. But I doubt you will be inactive here today. Bonaparte is in the field and he is sure to manoeuvre against us. In any event, I do not think that we shall long remain in this position: the Prussians are marching to us, and I fully expect them on this flank by noon. I do not suppose Lord Uxbridge will keep us idle thereafter.’

‘Let us hope not, General,’ Lankester replied, ‘but I am surprised the French have made no move yet. Not even their artillery has begun harassing fire.’

‘Sir George Wood believes it is too wet – their guns would have no ricochet fire, and since Wellington has placed most of his infantry on the reverse of the crest their shot would have limited effect. He believes, too, that they have few howitzers: we should not forget that Bonaparte is first an artilleryman, and will not join battle until he is sure of his guns! He must be deuced confident, though, to be awaiting the ground to dry
out
, what with the Prussians about to fall on his flank at any moment.’

‘We are sure of the Prussians, then, General?’

‘We had better be! I dined with Müffling some days ago, and he swore that Blücher had given his word. That ought to be enough!’

‘Well, I for one would be content with a Prussian’s word.’

‘Exactly so, Sir Edward. But to more pressing matters. Uxbridge has recalled Mercer’s troop to the centre – temporarily, I would hope. There is a Dutch foot-battery making its way hither in its stead – though with little enough haste, I’ll warrant. I do not suppose, however, that artillery will be a requisite for some while at least. But good luck to you, gentlemen; I must now have words with Sir John Vandeleur.’

Vivian gave them a cheery wave in response to their salutes as he spurred into a canter towards the adjacent brigade.

‘Well,’ sighed Lankester, ‘what think you of taking away Mercer’s guns?’

‘The duke will have an inferiority of them, it is sure, and will make up for it by wheeling them about. Sir George Wood says our horse batteries are the envy of all, the French included.’

‘That is as may be, Hervey, but what use is a foot-battery to us? It cannot support any manoeuvre. Perhaps that is why it is sent to us, to anchor us to the spot!’

‘Then, it would have been more expedient to remove
our
horses!’ smiled Hervey. ‘But what chance do you give our manoeuvring in this soft going even had we Mercer’s troop still?’

‘Nothing faster than a trot without risk of losing formation. But at least the French will find the going as heavy. Look, Hervey, if we
do
go forward, then you
must
keep up close and check the pace: you will not be worth the name of supports otherwise. We have drilled often enough. I am confident of “B” Troop’s handiness in the rally, but holding “A” Troop as supports at the right distance is of the essence.
Heavens
, but these are difficult evolutions to accomplish at the best of times!’

‘Indeed, sir,’ replied Hervey, ‘and I have seen so many regiments’ drill in the weeks since we arrived that I have my doubts that all will be capable in this regard.’

‘Hervey, I have not the slightest doubt that some are wholly
in
capable. I saw the Union Brigade at drill less than a fortnight ago: a real Dutch ball it was! The Scotch Greys are as handy as a Thames barge without a rudder! And if any run on today they will pay dearly – as, indeed, may the poor souls who will have to recover them.’

A rattle of distant musketry, towards the centre of the line, or perhaps beyond, and the first that morning, stayed further reflection on the state of the cavalry’s drill. Hervey looked at his watch. ‘A little after eleven,’ he said.

‘Curious that musketry should open a battle such as this,’ replied Lankester.

‘I think it must be skirmishing around the château,’ suggested Hervey.

‘Then it seems he is to force that flank after all,’ conceded the captain, turning his charger round and making back for his place in front of the squadron.

But the sound of skirmishing did not distract them long, for across the valley there came the first sign of activity in three hours. A troop of horse artillery trotted on to the opposing ridge, and fluttering lance pennants just visible two hundred yards or so to their rear indicated sizeable supports – unlike that memorable day at Toulouse which had given Hervey opportunity and tribulation in equal measure. He took out his telescope and studied the troop as it began to unlimber, the gunners, dressed in hussar fashion, man-handling four burnished-brass cannon into line, with the sun, now high over the French lines, glinting on the barrels. ‘“And the Lord said unto Joshua, Stretch out the spear that is in thy hand toward Ai.”’

‘Beg your pardon, sir?’ said Hervey’s trumpeter.

‘Book of Joshua,’ he replied absently. ‘Joshua waved his spear, and it glinted in the sunlight, the signal to spring the ambush on the Canaanites.’

The trumpeter nodded.

‘Joshua was my first hero,’ Hervey continued, still peering through the telescope. ‘I remember, as if yesterday, the first time I heard my father read that lesson. It is strange, is it not, to think of those fearsome acts of war recounted in so tranquil a place as a church?’

‘Strange indeed, sir. A very contrary thing can the Bible be,’ agreed the trumpeter readily.

Hervey lowered his telescope with a sudden thought: it was the Sabbath – his father would be in his pulpit this very minute, and Henrietta, perhaps, in his congregation …

But before he could indulge his thoughts of Horningsham too deeply his trumpeter cried out excitedly: ‘Look, sir, a galloper!’

Lieutenant the Honourable Charles Dawson, the distinctive blue busby-bag of the 18th Hussars flying horizontal as he sped along their front, called to him as he passed: ‘Sport, Hervey! I’m off to bring Mercer!’

‘Yes,’ he sighed, ‘
well
may he gallop after Mercer, with
still
no sign of that damned Dutch battery!’

Sir Hussey Vivian, with whose summons for Mercer’s guns Dawson now sped, was contemplating the courses now open to him. There was but one of any aptness, however, for launch what he might at the guns they would be overwhelmed by Jacquinot’s lancers beyond, their red and white pennants now unmistakable in the clear morning air. And any cavalry would first suffer sorely from the battery’s fire as they advanced in such heavy going. No, he would have to wait for Mercer – or the Dutch, wherever they were. And he was certainly not prepared to retire behind the ridge so soon, for it would sorely try the Nassauers in the hamlets below, steady as their reputation might be, if they perceived the line to be withdrawing. But, curiously, no fire came from the troop. They merely
stood
, like the rest of the French line, in eerie silence.

Hervey turned to look at his own command. He saw the apprehensiveness of the new troopers, and the impassiveness of the older ones, who were mostly chewing tobacco. At the end of the first rank, the flanker, Armstrong, sat with the faintest trace of a smile on his lined face, like some seasoned foxhound waiting patiently at the covertside, assured of the good sport to come. Not Serjeant Strange, though – not that Hervey was able to see him behind the rear rank.
His
face would reveal nothing whatever. He then looked over to the other squadrons, noting with pleasure the congruity of the horses within troops, which long custom – and attention since their return from Spain – had ensured. There was his own troop, consisting entirely of dark bays. There was ‘B’ with blacks, ‘C’, like ‘A’, with bays. ‘D’ had lighter browns, ‘E’ (the smallest, but smartest) were all chestnuts, and ‘F’ were mainly blacks with some dark bays. All were compact, active types, mainly Irish; few were over 15 hands at most. And although the practice had been discontinued by an Army Order of 1799, the Sixth, in common with most other regiments, still mounted all their trumpeters on greys. No, he thought, the regiment did not disgrace Sir Hussey’s brigade. And if they had to ride at this battery, well …