Words of Command (Hervey 12) (Matthew Hervey)

by Allan Mallinson

  The captains examined their maps again. The distance between the crossing points on the border was about eight miles – too far to be of mutual assistance, not so very different from those tumultuous days in 1815.

  ‘As I have said, I believe the best interests of the French would be served by a single avenue of advance. As soon as that avenue is detected I shall withdraw the other troop to the support of that astride the advance. However, eight miles – an hour and a half to bring a troop to the support of the other: it would be close run. I intend therefore to scout the fortress at Maubeuge, which is the obvious point d’appui, to gain the earliest indication of which road they’ll take.’

  The captains looked reassured – except that Maubeuge stood square in French territory.

  ‘Now, the manner of your barring the way: it is to be without violence. I mean, not a shot nor a blade is to touch a single cuirassier, lancer or whatever manner of cavalryman is sent. Draw swords – certainly; warning shots if necessary. I leave it to you to devise what drill you may – and for the night also, for it’s not impossible that they should try to pass in darkness; and I’ll talk with you of it when you see the ground tomorrow. We want no “untoward event”, no Navarino’ (the proximity of opposing forces had a momentum of its own, just as in that unfortunate battle): ‘if they offer violence the game’s up: it’s then invasion, and there’s nothing for it but to melt before them, as at a field day. We’ll have done all that’s reasonably in our power to do.’

  Vanneck and Worsley nodded once more. There need be no sacrifice – not a single dragoon – if, unlike at Navarino, cool heads prevailed.

  ‘Now, there’s much for you to ponder, but one last detail, and as we’ve ridden across the battlefields of the two greatest exponents of exploring, let me quote the first duke, that nothing can be done without good and early intelligence. Cornets St Alban and Jenkinson shall therefore be detached for the purpose of exploring Maubeuge. In plain clothes, of course.’

  The adjutant looked distinctly uneasy.

  ‘Mr Malet?’

  ‘Colonel, I was merely wondering if it might be more … with respect, prudent, to keep Jenkinson within his troop. If he were to be taken, detained, captured, or whatever it were, the nephew of the late prime minister …’

  Hervey smiled just perceptibly. ‘It is for that reason that I choose him.’

  Silence. There could be no clearer statement of their leader’s steely earnest.

  And Hervey was aware of it. Just occasionally it was necessary to impress upon even the best of men what a business theirs was.

  But if soldiery were, in the end, a business of some heat, it did not follow that it should be grim. His smile became wry: ‘Jenkinson’s safety is assured. He and St Alban can play the part of two English milords on their grand tour. The only hazard is that the late prime minister’s nephew – “BA Oxon” – will think himself too strongly into the part: I fancy there’s enough at Maubeuge to keep an army of antiquarians absorbed for days.’

  Worsley smiled. ‘A whole regiment might pass unremarked if he were wrestling with some inscription.’

  Vanneck shook his head. ‘But St Alban would not miss a crowd, and the chance to lecture them on Reform.’

  There was knowing laughter. Hervey had pulled off the trick to a T.

  Next morning they paraded before first light. In the circumstances it was as well to lose no more time than need be, but there was anyway something to being under arms at dawn that set the blood coursing – the shiver of anticipation. They’d had months of ease; the pace must now change.

  The plan was simple enough. The captains would ride to the border, present their compliments to the gendarmes and the customs officials, and explain that they were come to keep watch but would otherwise not disturb their work. They would then make a reconnaissance of the country just short of the crossing to determine the best place to take post, and then, when their troops joined them, rehearse their own designs for the interception of, as Hervey put it, the incursores. Only then would the ‘milords’ proceed into France (indeed it would not do for them to appear at too early an hour, being ‘gentlemen of leisure’).

  Hervey and his party rode ahead. It was the most perfect of mornings, the air new-scrubbed but warm, mist hanging over the streams, birds in full throat, late in the year though it was, the fields lush green and the cattle content, or else stubbled, with poppy and cornflower in the balks, and here and there an early gleaner, or a wisp of smoke from a cottage hearth; a country still at rest. It was a good time to be making tracks, on foot to begin with and then in a mile or so, the horses warmed to the work, into the saddle and a steady trot. A dozen or so miles west and it would not have been so bucolic – Mons, and, beyond, the Borinage, the infernal dominion of the coal pits. He ought perhaps to see it, if only to know what those places in England looked like.

  Twenty-five miles. Four hours and without mishap, so that it was not yet nine when they rode up to the customs post on the Rue des Trieux, two leagues north of Maubeuge, the Marquis de Vauban’s great fortress, and Hervey made his introductions to the startled douaniers and the caporal of gendarmes.

  Having first taken them for Dutch – and been courteous – once persuaded their visitors were English, the guardians of the crossing became positively friendly. Coffee and genever was produced. And useful intelligence, too. The French, they said, had begun sending a patrol – half a dozen lancers, as far as they could make out – to their own douanerie a hundred yards down the road, morning and evening. They’d not done this before. They’d spend a quarter of an hour at the post, wave in a comradely manner to them – and they themselves would return the greeting – and then turn back in the direction of Maubeuge.

  ‘Et c’est tout à fait?’ asked Hervey, wondering if there were not some other revealing detail.

  ‘Oui, mon colonel – it is indeed all.’

  It could mean anything – perhaps that the French here knew of the tumult in Brussels and were on the lookout for some sign of its spreading …

  He drank his coffee, accepted more, and a second glass of gen-ever, bought some of the bread and pork dripping which an enterprising épouse du fermier brought from a cottage near by, and then explained that a troop of sixty or so dragons légers would soon be arriving. It was to do with the anniversary of Waterloo, he said (not untruthfully), at which the guardians of the post looked perfectly content, and the farmer’s wife delighted. And having thanked them all profoundly and shaken hands, he set off to follow the line of cairns and posts that marked the border to where Vanneck’s troop would in time be stationing themselves, just north of Jeumont – and where, indeed, but for any enterprising wife, the encounter with the second party of gendarmes and douaniers was exactly like that with the first.

  Both troops reached their picket posts towards ten, their baggage an hour later. Hervey had said they couldn’t expect billets: the maps suggested these parts were not much built over, and besides, the very appearance of military tentage ought to serve as a signal – a check – to the French.

  By midday the videttes were posted, Cornets Jenkinson and St Alban were making their way incognito and unhindered to Maubeuge (dressed, indeed, as if for Paris), and at one o’clock Vanneck and Worsley met with Hervey at the rendezvous near the Bois d’Avau between the two crossings to arrange the system of signals and gallopers that might unite them at the proper moment. In this, the ground certainly favoured them, the country flat or at most gently rolling, and the best going short of Newmarket that a galloper could reasonably wish for. Malet made the contact arrangements: a corporal’s relay from each troop by day (Hervey thought the risk of mishap at night too great); and the trumpet-major had both captains’ trumpeters rehearse the ancillary calls. Then Hervey went to each picket in turn and spent half an hour reviewing the preparations. By three o’clock the campfires were lit and the beef boiling.

  Towards four, Jenkinson and St Alban returned. They had ridden across country as instructed to
evade the gendarmerie, to the crossroads midway between Jeumont and Merbes-le-Château, where Hervey intended planting his pennon – and where with two orderlies Corporal Johnson had supervised the erection of a gaily striped maiden’s marquee, with table, chairs and washstand, while Mr Lincoln’s men put up more conventional canvas for the rest of the party.

  Hervey arrived in good spirits, having found the pickets in exemplary order. ‘Well,’ he said, surveying the regency stripes, ‘if the King of France himself comes we shall not feel inferior.’

  Johnson mumbled something appreciative, glad that there was no enquiry as to the marquee’s provenance (it was an ill riot that blew no good).

  ‘The scouts are returned, Colonel,’ said Malet, thinking it best to divert attention from the obvious question (Mr Rennie could be relied on to deal with things in due course – prudentially).

  The cornets, taking their ease under a chestnut tree, had been roused by Serjeant Acton and were hurrying over. They looked at the same time grave and yet accomplished.

  ‘Good afternoon, gentlemen,’ replied Hervey to their salutations. ‘I perceive you have something to report.’

  ‘Yes, Colonel – indeed so,’ said Jenkinson.

  He bid them sit at the table, and Johnson brought coffee in the campaign china.

  ‘You had no trouble passing to and from Maubeuge, evidently?’

  ‘None at all, Colonel,’ replied Jenkinson, claiming seniority. ‘We rode into the town unchecked, made a circumnavigation of the entire fortress and its environs and then took our refreshment in the grand square, where we were soon engaged in conversation with a party of officers of the garrison, who were most hospitable.’

  ‘Carry on.’

  ‘Colonel, it is exactly as you surmised: there is a regiment of cuirassiers come into the town under orders to conduct a “cavalcade”, as they called it. They are to ride towards Mons to see what is the reply of the garrison and the people, and if favourable then towards Charleroi. We asked if they were to be followed at once by greater numbers, but they were uncertain; however they did believe that theirs was the only such expedition.’

  ‘Mm. “Cavalcade” – a somewhat picturesque choice.’ He looked at St Alban. ‘Their exact word?’

  ‘Yes, Colonel.’

  ‘Mm.’ It was gratifying to have such ‘good and early intelligence’; even if, by its very nature, incomplete. He pressed his exploring officers nevertheless for any detail that might reveal something more to advantage: what would be the day and time of the cavalcade; in what strength; would the two of them be able to re-enter Maubeuge if necessary?

  St Alban revealed the most profitable line of further exploration. ‘Colonel, Jenkinson and I discussed between us – as best we could at the table with the French officers – whether it were better to reveal that there was an English regiment barring their way, for it seemed we might accomplish your purpose without the two coming into proximity, but we concluded that this would be too perilous: the French might then devise some scheme of testing the regiment, whereas if they were to come across it unexpectedly, the initiative would remain with us.’

  Hervey thought for a moment. The idea had its attractions – and, indeed, there was evidently still time to do it – but he too concluded that to surrender surprise would be a mistake. ‘One more thing: the douaniers on the Mons road spoke of lancers coming to the crossing morning and evening of late, yet you spoke only of cuirassiers.’

  ‘We saw no sign of lancers, Colonel.’

  Hervey nodded. ‘Very well; it’s perhaps of little import … But I shall want you to return to Maubeuge, take rooms somewhere and observe. I want early warning of this cavalcade. By early I mean at least an hour by day – to give time to get the horses under saddle and the troops into line, which means that you yourselves must be at an instant’s readiness.’

  ‘Colonel.’

  He rose. ‘You have done well, gentlemen. I look to you to do the same tomorrow – or whenever it may be.’

  At about five next morning as the headquarter party went quietly about its business of the new day, with the smell of bacon, and birdsong and the rhythmic munching of oats to complete the impression of pastoral peace, Fairbrother rode into the encampment. Hervey was sipping coffee (Corporal Johnson had brought him tea at first light, with voluble recollections of doing so on the morning of Waterloo, and how much more agreeable it was today – ‘no rain, no Frenchies’). He rose and greeted his good friend warily, for although he was ever glad to see him, the fleetest of postboys could not have made The Hague and back so soon.

  ‘The greatest of good fortune,’ Fairbrother reported: ‘I learned at one of the post-houses that the ambassador was at Breda; and so he was, and received me at once, for he’d heard of the disturbances, and he read your letter with close attention.’

  Johnson brought coffee and a bowl of hot water, Fairbrother being covered in the dust of the road.

  ‘He questioned me closely on the events of the twenty-fifth and the reaction of the authorities, and said he must return at once to The Hague to see the king, but would send the secretary of the embassy to Brussels – Cartwright, his name. He much approved of your decision to come here.’

  He took several gulps of coffee, piping hot though it was.

  Hervey nodded. ‘He approves the decision. Well, that is something indeed. He offered no directive, I take it?’

  Fairbrother shook his head. ‘Carte blanche, I would think. His words were that from his observations in Canada and what he had read of the Cape, there was no one in whom he would have greater confidence.’

  Obliged though he was, Hervey merely inclined his head. As a rule he cared not much for the approval of someone who’d never worn the King’s coat, but Sir Charles Bagot was no place-man. ‘Capital,’ he said quietly.

  Fairbrother poured himself more coffee. ‘I thought it might be pleasing.’

  Hervey now quickened. ‘Now hear, I’ve good intelligence from Maubeuge. I believe we may see the French this day—But I forget myself: Breda’s, what, a hundred miles? You’ll have slept little. There’s a pleasant swimming pool in the stream yonder, which I bathed in just before you came.’ He pointed to the spinney the other side of the crossroads. ‘And you may avail yourself of my bed.’

  Fairbrother confessed he’d lain for three hours at a post-house by Brussels, but reckoned that unless he could sleep for twelve it were better that he stayed on his feet – especially with the prospect of a little action. ‘I’ll take myself off to bathe, and then beg a little breakfast of you.’

  While he did, Hervey took up his pen to write a second despatch to London – which this time he was able to do with all the assurance of approval. Though not, of course, with licence to make actual war.

  An hour later, Fairbrother, shaved and shampooed, his coat sponged by Johnson and his boots blacked by one of the orderlies, returned to the table with renewed vigour and joined in a fortifying breakfast of eggs and bacon.

  Malet joined them too, fresh from his inspection of the corporals’ relays. ‘They were posted by a quarter past four, Colonel, and keen as a razor – Denny and Walton.’

  ‘Then I hope the French won’t keep us waiting. I’ve a mind to send scouts down the road, in case St Alban and Jenkinson miss them, but it would be a deuced tricky thing to have them discovered.’

  ‘Both captains will be sharp on the lookout, Colonel.’

  ‘Indeed,’ said Hervey, lapsing into thought.

  Fairbrother eyed him, cautiously. ‘Do you want me to scout, in my plain coat?’

  Hervey shook his head. ‘No, I’d something else in mind. You said that Bagot was not in the least anxious about what I proposed?’

  ‘On the contrary. As I told you, he spoke of the imperative necessity to keep the French out of the Netherlands. Though not, I’m sure, by force of arms.’

  ‘Mm.’

  He thought a little longer.

  ‘Malet, instruct the sar’nt-major, if you please, to issue
Captain Vanneck’s troop with ten rounds of ball-cartridge.’

  ‘Colonel?’

  ‘Ten rounds. Each troop has five already, do they not? Worsley’s won’t need more. And I would have a man take him orders, which I’ll write presently. If it is “imperative necessity” to keep out the French, then we may have to make more than a mere demonstration.’

  Fairbrother made to protest, but Hervey stayed him.

  Malet rose and went to find the serjeant-major.

  Fairbrother, his plate now clean, pushed it aside and spoke firmly. ‘Hervey, a show of force is one thing …’

  Hervey nodded, gravely. ‘I know, but if the French aren’t overawed by show, how can we not apply that force? If we call their bluff, then who will censure us? And if it comes to war with France, then what moment to anyone will be the action of two troops at its commencement?’

  ‘Two troops of cavalry?’

  ‘If that is all His Majesty can place in the path of the French, then so be it.’

  ‘Remember Codrington. Battle came out of nothing but proximity, and then out of that battle war between Russia and the Turk. You yourself have said it.’

  ‘Yes, and I said it again when I gave my design to Vanneck and Worsley; but I don’t think it an entirely apt comparison. The Turks were not attempting to force a passage; they were at anchor. We cannot let Navarino haunt our every decision. Peto lately told me of a far more fitting memento: his hero, Hoste, at Lissa signalling “Remember Nelson”. And so I shall.’

  ‘Noble sentiment.’

  ‘But quite why we must look to naval officers for example … Nevertheless, be assured that I shall indeed remember Codrington, most certainly, and Nelson – and Byng.’

  Fairbrother studied his friend intently. No one had ever stirred him to exertion as he. No one else he had known displayed such simple certainty in King and Country, nor yet a purblind loyalty, nor an incapacity to see corruption and absurdity, just an unshakeable faith that in his England there reposed the best of all worlds – on balance, in sum, for better or worse, ceteris paribus; and in consequence where duty lay (in which lay also the true glory). It was, indeed, the very motto which his family had borne for generations, Quo officium ducit – where duty leads. What he himself would not give to have such faith! But being not a true believer (not yet, at any rate), he would follow like some seeker after truth; for what, otherwise, should detain a gentleman? He had, in former times, taken his pleasure in Dionysian proportions; it did not last beyond the next sunrise. His true pleasure now lay in the company of this man, and, yes, in the company of those who answered to him. What was this mystery?