Hervey 08 - Company Of Spears (15 page)

He rode north for almost a mile, and still the land was the Board of Ordnance’s. In among the trees he could see the little curved-roof stone buildings, or else flimsy wooden ones which would blow apart readily rather than contain the blast and do fearful destruction to all inside. The more he saw the more astonished he was, for His Majesty’s principal gunpowder mills would, he felt sure, have been at once familiar to great Henry himself when first the manufacture of powder began here three centuries ago. It was a most curious, almost primitive affair, the advances of science and engineering having passed by this very heart of the nation’s machinery of war. There was not even a wall around the site to speak of, nothing to keep out male-factors, although he supposed the road might easily be closed at the southern and northern ends, and then the river on the one side would form a barrier, and the part-canalized Mill Head on the west another. Indeed there were so many cuts and sluices to channel the power-water or let small boats take powder from one process to the next that it appeared to him a veritable little Venice. He would have wished for a more thoroughgoing reconnaissance; all he could do now was gain an impression of the ground over which they might manoeuvre, if ‘manoeuvre’ was not too pretentious a description of a scramble at night after Irish hoddy-noddies.

He had yet to discover it for certain, but he felt sure the place must be stoutly patrolled by watchmen, to whom even a navvy fortified by spirits and armed with a pickaxe handle was not too formidable an opponent, for the watchmen would, of course, be firearmed, or have access to firearms. Doubtless the ringleaders would be carrying pistols; perhaps even muskets. They would think themselves well set up for the night’s work, expecting nothing out of the ordinary of the watch, so that a sharp fusillade from the Sixtieth might confound them altogether. Not that it would be a fusillade: aimed shots was what the Sixtieth’s riflemen would deliver, even in the dark, for there would be moon enough tonight to make out figures at fifty yards. And that was something that spoke of the intruders’ inaptness too: a bit of a moon they no doubt considered to their advantage – enough to light their path but not enough to give them away. Hervey shook his head. Poor fools! It would be no hunter’s moon tonight, but enough to give the pursuer his line; and with each dragoon carrying a torch those who escaped the Sixtieth’s marksmanship would not evade the following sabre. Poor fools; poor, damned, gullible, Irish fools!

The ground to the left of the Powdermill Lane was firm enough. Hervey reckoned a man could run a good way before tiring. A pity it was not soft going, to let a horse overhaul a running man not too far from the road. He could see the odd fugitive getting into the woods on the common, where he would then have the advantage if he kept his head. If this were the only road approaching the mills (the parallel canal a couple of hundred yards across the common had a towpath, but according to his map little more), it would be well to put the better part of the squadron in the woods to begin with, leaving a strong party of carbines at the inlets where the Powdermill Lane and canal converged. The rest could picket the lane and the towpath and then drive the intruders north onto the carbines like beaters at a shoot. Unless they were given to panic (which of course, being Irish, was a very distinct possibility), or bent on murder, there was no reason why every one of them should not be taken prisoner. And that would be of the greatest advantage to the Home Office in their pursuit of intelligence. He needed to know for certain, however, where the Sixtieth were: close garrison of the corning mills and storage sheds was their task, but he must make sure there was no possibility of their mistaking his men for intruders.

‘Halt!’

A rifleman, green-uniformed and grim-faced, stepped into the road from behind a rhododendron bush. Hervey pulled up at once. ‘Good evening, Corporal. I am Major Hervey of the Sixth Light Dragoons.’

The Sixtieth corporal at once shouldered his rifle and saluted. ‘Sir!’

‘I was hoping to find your colonel.’

‘Don’t know where the colonel is, sir. The captain’s just yonder a couple of hundred yards; at the flour mill beyond the big magazine, sir.’

Hervey was surprised by how far north the picket was posted, several hundred yards from any building; but that was a question for the captain. ‘That will do, Corporal. Thank you.’

The corporal stood aside to let him pass. Hervey touched his hat in reply to the second salute, and put Gilbert back into a trot.

The metalled road now turned into soft track, which in turn all but disappeared at the Grand Magazine. Here was a safe enough place reckoned Hervey: it was entirely surrounded by water, though there was no sign of a guard. He picked his way carefully, wondering how they would fare if there were no moon, for the cloud was becoming heavy.

At the mill he met the officer commanding Number One Company, a young captain who quickly told him of the arrangements. The flour mill, he explained, was owned by the Ordnance; they had bought it to better regulate the flow of water from the Lea to the powder-corning mills, and it was to be the forward company post. His orders were to picket the Powdermill Lane (which Hervey had just ridden) as far as the big bend in the Lea where the sentry had challenged, and, on the other side of the common, south along the canal as far as the old corning house.

Hervey noted the detail on his map, though not without some perplexity. ‘I take it the second company will complete the circle, so to speak. But why are you posted so far from any of the buildings?’

The captain explained that such was the fear of causing explosion, no one with firearms was permitted within a hundred yards of any building.

Hervey knew well enough they sat atop a powder keg but he had rather supposed the intruders posed the greater risk of an errant spark. ‘Very well,’ he replied, a shade wearily. ‘I’ve yet to receive my orders, but I fancy they’ll be to patrol the road north of here, though I could do that well enough with a quarter of the men. Do you have a parole?’

‘Shorncliffe.’

Hervey nodded. ‘The same for both companies?’

‘Ay. And yours?’

‘We shall take “Shorncliffe” too. But I fancy, since we’re hardly likely to meet Slattery’s Dragoons, four legs should be a faithful enough sign. I shall now go to see your colonel. I’ll see you again soon after dark, no doubt.’

The captain returned the wry smile. ‘Join us for dinner if the colonel doesn’t insist on your dining with him.’

Hervey touched his hat. He had always liked the way of the Rifles. ‘With great pleasure.’

By the time Hervey got back to the Four Swans, the deputy quartermaster-general had arrived.

‘Good evening, Colonel,’ he said, dismounting and saluting. ‘Major Hervey, commanding the Light Dragoons.’

Colonel Denroche remembered, and touched the tip of his bicorn.

‘I have explored the mills and met Colonel Agar,’ Hervey began, briskly. ‘He’s much agitated by the restrictions placed on his riflemen – not to approach within a hundred yards of any building. We’ve agreed that I should picket the road north of the Thorogood Sluice, the first inlet to the canal’ (he pointed to the place on his map) ‘and keep a reserve of dragoons to sweep the common land between the Lea and the canal in case anyone gets across the water.’

Colonel Denroche nodded.

Nasmyth stepped forward. ‘Your exploration, Major Hervey: you did not go
north
of the Thorogood Sluice?’

Hervey was angering, but he spoke calmly. ‘As it happens, I did not. Is there any reason I should not have done so?’

‘Only that I have told my own men that no one would venture beyond there in daylight.’

‘Your
own
men?’

Colonel Denroche held up a hand. ‘I think we need not go into the details. Is your troop ready, Major Hervey?’

‘It is, Colonel, but as yet they have no orders.’

Colonel Denroche narrowed his eyes. ‘I know that, Hervey. Since I have not given
you
orders you cannot have given
them
any. Do not be truculent, sir.’

Hervey would not kick at pricks. He already sensed the night’s work would be vexing enough. ‘We stand ready, Colonel.’

‘How many men can you dispose?’

‘Just short of one hundred.’

‘Very well. When it is quite dark you will take them into Waltham Abbey and await further orders. Muster in Bridge-street, which is perfectly suited. In the event of an attack, which the Rifles are well posted to repel, you will be called up the Powdermill-lane to pursue any who flee, and thereafter to patrol the environs to reassure the townsfolk and the mill workers.’

Hervey, incredulous, sought to clarify the otherwise straightforward instruction. ‘You do not want me to picket the sluice or place men on the common?’ With so inactive a task, he wondered why he might not have had his orders from Major Dalrymple while it was full light.

‘I do not believe that will be necessary. The Sixtieth have a close garrison.’

‘The mills and the storage sheds, Colonel: who shall guard those in the event that anyone is able to slip by the Sixtieth?’

‘I do not see how that could come about, unless by an amphibium.’

‘A rowing boat is not beyond question, surely?’

Colonel Denroche was becoming irritated. ‘Major Hervey, your thoroughness does you credit, but we are dealing with a band of Irish navigators, not His Majesty’s forces. Besides, the mill watch will be attending to that.’

Hervey resolved to stand rebuked, seeing no prospect of persuading the deputy quartermaster-general to address the concern. ‘One further question, Colonel. Mr Nasmyth’s men – how shall they make themselves known if needs be?’

Nasmyth answered before the colonel was able to. ‘You need have no worry on that account, Major Hervey.’

Hervey bridled. ‘I am not mint-new, sir. I have seen affairs enough to know that what
may
go wrong usually does, and I neither want to shoot your men nor have them shoot mine!’

‘Gentlemen!’ snapped Colonel Denroche. ‘There’s no time for bickering. Major Hervey, just make sure your men stay south of the sluice; and Mr Nasmyth, keep your men well to the north of it!’

The first shot came just after midnight. Hervey, dozing on a straw bale in the Sixtieth’s headquarters (the mill stables) woke at once and sprang up, fastening on his sword belt and reaching for his shako.

‘Stand to horses!’ he called to his trumpeter.

In an instant Corporal Parry was outside and blowing the triplets. They carried easily the hundred yards to Bridge Street where the dragoons waited. Keen anticipation of a chase thrilled through the ranks like a flame along a trail of powder.

Colonel Denroche had also posted himself at the stables. Hervey asked if he should bring up the squadron.

There had now been two dozen shots. Colonel Denroche checked his watch, and nodded.

‘“Forward”, please, C’Parry,’ called Hervey as he went with the colonel into the yard.

Private Johnson was already standing with Gilbert’s reins. Hervey mounted at once without checking the girth. Long years told him it was unnecessary – no matter what Johnson’s misdemeanours.

Corporal Wainwright, his coverman, was already in the saddle; the RSM too. Hervey hoped Colonel Denroche was noting the address with which the Sixth stood to arms.

The firing was now brisk. Even the Sixtieth’s commanding officer looked surprised. ‘Not all Baker rifles, not by any means,’ he muttered darkly.

Since there were no other firearms north of Bridge Street it could mean but one thing: the intruders were indeed well armed. Better armed than expected. ‘Leave to take the squadron forward, Colonel?’

Colonel Denroche glanced at Nasmyth, who nodded. ‘Very well.’

Hervey saluted and turned for the Powdermill Lane. ‘Mr Hairsine, you and I shall ride for the Sixtieth’s picket at the sluice. Corporal Parry, my compliments to Captain Worsley, and would he please bring up the squadron and wait by the old turnpike house. And no lights.’

‘Sir.’

He put Gilbert into a trot.

The firing continued, sporadic now but still determined. He knew there must be riflemen in the shadows, but no challenge came until they got to the bend in the river where the corporal had checked him the evening before. A lantern swinging side to side brought them to a halt.

‘Parole!’

‘Shorncliffe,’ replied Hervey, as quietly as he dare.

‘Advance, friend!’

‘Major Hervey, Sixth Light Dragoons.’ He saw a serjeant’s stripes. ‘My squadron will be up in a few minutes. Have you seen anything?’

‘Not a thing, sir.’

A scuffing on the road made the serjeant swing round. ‘Halt! Who goes there?’

There were plaintive voices: ‘Please, sir, just us.’

Two riflemen stepped from the bushes to take aim at the unknown shapes.

‘Who’s “us”?’ demanded the serjeant gruffly.

‘Sethy Wilks and Jack Cranch, sir. We was just doin a bit o’ rabbitin’ on the common … as we’ve rights to.’

‘Raise your hands above your head, and step forward!’

The two shuffled into the pool of light. Hervey waited to hear them.

‘Where’re you from?’ the serjeant barked, as if he were rousting recruits.

‘The town, sir. We both of us work in the mills.’

‘Have you seen anything?’

‘No, sir. We just ‘eard all the firin’ and thought as how we’d better leave everythin’.’

Hervey saw they were of no help to him, except by way of negative intelligence – and the realization that commoners’ rights might make the affair more hazardous than he had supposed. ‘I think you might detain them, Serjeant, until it’s all over.’

‘Ay, sir.’

He kicked on.

The firing quickened again as they came up to the company post. A sentry challenged them thirty yards short of the sluice.

Hervey gave the parole, dismounted and handed the reins to Johnson, then made his way to where he had last seen Number One Company commander.

The mill was still lit, and from the hatch-doorway at the top riflemen were firing – deliberate, careful aimed fire. He pushed open the door at the rear.