The longest discussion had been on the question of India. Hervey had been adamant that the fact of their posting be advertised. ‘We cannot fail to declare such a thing!’
Again, Armstrong had countered that it would make no difference to the recruit himself but might set his family or sweetheart against it. ‘We should tell a man once he comes to us, before he takes the shilling. Then it’s his own doing. He might be looking for an excuse to leave the girl!’
Hervey pulled a face.
‘Come on, sir. This is the army, not New Lanark!’
‘And what if the news gets around? Won’t it seem we can’t be trusted?’
The arguments were finely balanced. Hervey was adamant that he would not trick any man into joining.
Armstrong was equally adamant that the bounty itself was a trick. ‘We pay him five pounds and then make him spend ten on clothing. That’s hardly fair, is it?’
At length, Hervey agreed to the compromise: recruits would be told about India before they took the shilling.
Hervey left Serjeant Collins to his duties and rode to Upton Scudamore to see Daniel Coates. He had no intention but to pass the day with him, an unexpected pleasure, but it did indeed prove fruitful to his recruiting. Coates had sat the day before on the Westbury bench and had had to deal with, as he described it, a particularly distressing case involving a shepherd he had once employed but who had left for a better position. ‘It appears he had a wife in common law but she had taken to another man on account of the nights he spent with his sheep. When he discovered them together he struck the man and did him no little damage. And although he wanted his wife to stay with him she left that night.’
‘I’m surprised a case should have been made for the magistrates, Dan. It would hardly seem the other party received more than he deserved.’
‘Ah,’ replied Coates, suggesting Hervey was right. ‘But it was not that simple, for the other man turned out to be a son of his employer.’
Hervey sighed. ‘The social order in west Wiltshire was thus threatened!’
‘That is what Sir George Styles seems to have imagined.’ Hervey’s jaw dropped. ‘You mean—’
‘Ay. The very same.’
‘As if his brother was not trouble enough; God rest his soul.’ Hugo Styles had courted Henrietta, ineffectually, commanded the Warminster Troop of the yeomanry just as ineffectually, and died at Waterloo very probably in a state of terror. ‘What did you do with him, Dan?’
‘I couldn’t bring myself to do anything. I adjourned the court, and first thing this morning I went to see Styles senior to ask that the evidence be withdrawn. The shepherd has no position now, he’s lost his so-called wife, and their cottage: what more punishment might there be? But I can’t very well set him free. It would scarcely be exemplary.’
‘I suppose Styles refused?’
‘Would hardly hear me out.’
Hervey sighed again. ‘You’re thinking of inviting him to pay with the drum?’
Coates returned the look grimly. ‘Would you take him, Matthew?’
‘Would you recommend that I should?’
Now Coates sighed. ‘The Lord only knows whether he’d make a soldier, for I don’t. But there’s nothing for him hereabouts now. And I fear for him. He was a good shepherd. I don’t think he’d let you down willingly.’
‘Then if he’ll come I’ll take him.’
‘He’d have to attest before I released him.’
‘Well, you’re the magistrate, Dan: he can attest before you. I can have a dragoon bring him back to Warminster straight afterwards.’
‘Thank you, Matthew. Let us pray he sees sense, then.’
‘I’ll warn my serjeant this afternoon. What is his name?’
‘William Stent. Your father buried his at Imber, as I recall.’
‘Very likely. Well, it’s not a bad connection. By the way, I didn’t say as I have some officers at last. Seton Canning will be my lieutenant again, which I’m right pleased with, I may tell you. And the cornet will be Lord Huntingfield’s younger son. I knew his brother in the Eighteenth in Spain. He ought to have the makings.’
‘I’m glad of that for you, Matthew. You’ll want good officers by the sound of things.’ Coates now paused, seeming to contemplate something else. ‘Matthew, I’m pleased you’re come. I can’t tell you how glad am I to see you back in regimentals. You were not your true self without them.’ He reached into his pocket. ‘We may not have a chance to make proper farewells. I want to give you this.’
Hervey was taken aback by the sudden reminder of his transience on the Plain. He took the leather case and opened it carefully.
‘I sent to London for it. It has hands which luminesce. I scarcely believed it — but they do.’
Hervey examined the watch closely, but in vain. It showed no sign of luminescence. But he saw the maker’s name, George Prior: the same as d’Arcey Jessope had given him five years earlier, and he was at once confident that, come the evening, the hands would somehow be visible. And in that name he saw, too, the extent of Coates’s generosity as well as his thoughtfulness. ‘Dan, this is so very good of you, I—’
‘And this,’ added Coates enthusiastically, reaching into the other pocket. ‘See this, Matthew!’
Hervey looked at the instrument curiously. He had not seen a compass outside of a binnacle, and certainly not one as small.
‘The strangest thing. I was sat at the Devizes bench a month ago, and a man entered it in lieu of payment of his fine. The clerk wouldn’t have it at first, but I gave him sufficient to pay his fine and a good deal more. I reckoned I might have use of it on the downs of a night. But then I thought you would make more of it in the Indies.’
Hervey smiled gratefully. ‘Dan, you are the most solicitous friend a man might have. Why do you not follow to India in a year or so? I ought by then to know the safe ways.’
Coates clapped his hands together and laughed. He had ever had a mind to see the east, but Hervey’s caution on his behalf sounded like the wheel turning full circle. ‘Matthew, a very handsome offer that is. But if I should come, I should not want to see only the safer ways. And, I might say, Captain Hervey, neither should you!’
Hervey laughed, and assented with a nod.
A few moments of contented silence passed, and then Coates spoke quite gravely. ‘And everything is right with you otherwise, Matthew?’
‘ “Right”, “otherwise”, Dan?’
‘Ay. Are all your affairs put in order?’
Hervey balked at the directness. But Daniel Coates had picked him up when first he had fallen from a pony. ‘Dan …’
Coates sat down.
Hervey half sank into the ash dugout, and with a further sigh. ‘Elizabeth will take Georgiana to Longleat just before I leave. They’ll stay there until I’m gone.’
‘I should think that’s very wise of her, Matthew.’
Hervey remained silent for a while, trying to think how best he might explain it. ‘She is not two years, Dan, and yet she has everything about her that is her mother’s.’
Coates nodded. The silence returned. ‘She’s not Henrietta, of course, Matthew.’
‘No, that I understand. When I am able to reason, that is.’
‘Oh, Matthew, never surrender that power to reason.’
Hervey smiled. ‘No, I don’t believe I shall — not willingly, at any rate.’ And then he frowned. ‘I should have liked a little more time, though.’
‘Perhaps it’s better you hadn’t, Matthew. It would go harder with yon infant.’
And with himself, Hervey knew.
Late in the afternoon, at the time that Canon Hervey was saying the evening office, Hervey strolled with Elizabeth through the village. It was warm, perhaps as warm as an evening in India early in the summer. Swifts, swallows and martins were everywhere, jinking and diving, and a continuous stream of rooks headed west towards Longleat park. There were labourers about the fields still but not nearly so many, the work of haymakin
g done for a week or so; and cottage tables were claiming the menfolk at this hour. ‘How do you persuade a man to leave this for the barrack-room and India?’
Elizabeth looked at him, puzzled. ‘You don’t!’
‘Yet we have to fill the ranks somehow.’
‘Well, there’s little profit in trying to persuade a man with a wage and a sound roof. There’ll be one or two who might like the thrill of it, I dare say. But in truth you had better look elsewhere.’
‘You’re right, of course. We had a fair bag today, but not as good as I’d hoped.’
Elizabeth raised her eyebrows. She could never fathom the town. ‘Why don’t you go to the Common?’
Hervey looked at her, pained. ‘We’re recruiting for the cavalry and India, Elizabeth, not a penal battalion for the West Indies!’
Elizabeth smiled. ‘You’re not recruiting very much for anywhere, by your own admission, brother! Didn’t your Duke of Wellington say that his men were the scum of the earth?’
Hervey did not answer at once. ‘Elizabeth, you go to the workhouse, and I admire you much for it. But can you have a true notion of what the Common is?’
‘Why do you suppose otherwise?’
Hervey looked at her quizzically. ‘Father has forbidden your going there, has he not?’
‘Father forbade me to visit there.’
He furrowed his brow again.
‘He did not say I could not go about workhouse business.’
‘Are you saying you go into those hovels?’
‘I do. But I do not visit with them.’
Hervey said nothing, but his look betrayed his disapproval.
‘Matthew, someone must attend there. Last Monday we took in an unwed girl and her child from a single room in Marsh Street. The child’s father was her own father. Yesterday the constable arrested a young woman not one and twenty who was carrying on her trade while her common-law husband lay three days dead in the room upstairs. And this morning he turned out a young man who slept in the same bed as his unmarried mother. A singular week in numbers, perhaps, but not otherwise. Shall I say more?’
Hervey was speechless.
‘There is life there which cannot be any worse in the London rookeries. In the main I grieve only for the children now. But some of the young men might have redemption. The Methodists are doing fine work, but they must break through so much with the younger men.’
‘Elizabeth,’ said Hervey, muted. ‘I cannot do God’s work with these men. All we may do is make soldiers of them.’
‘I have seen enough to know what that would do.’
‘Yes, but you can’t make a good soldier out of a bad character.’
‘And I am not suggesting you try to. Only that you look for young men whose character is not yet formed.’
‘Elizabeth, you astonish me,’ said Hervey, the admiration evident. ‘But I’m afraid that nothing could induce me to go to Warminster Common in search of recruits!’
CHAPTER TEN. THE SCUM OF THE EARTH
In the course of the next three days, the recruiting party enlisted fourteen men, including William Stent, lately shepherd to Sir George Styles of Westbury. A dozen more had presented themselves to Serjeant Collins at The Bell, but these he had rejected on various grounds.
‘Two were so punchy, sir, that between them they’d have stood no higher than a noseband,’ reported Collins, carefully consulting his notebook. ‘One was badly scalded about the face, there was another with leg sores that stank very ill, two had crooked spines, one was an idiot, one was taken off by his mother before I could do much more than take his name — more’s the pity, for he was a smart lad.’
Hervey cocked an ear.
‘One had eyes that were very blear,’ continued Collins. ‘One was too close to forty for me to pretend he was under thirty, and two were dead drunk and haven’t returned.’
Hervey shook his head. ‘Were any put off by the notion of India?’
‘Not one, sir.’
‘It is disappointing indeed to have only the fourteen when it might have been double.’
‘But I will say the ones we attested look promising, sir. That Stent has the makings of an NCO, without a doubt, but he’s an unhappy man at the present. He told me he was missing his sheep — not his wife, mind, sir — his sheep.’
Hervey simply raised an eyebrow. ‘And who was this lad whose mother took him away?’
‘Rudd — a well-made lad, about your height, sir. And smart as a carrot new-scraped. I reckon he’d put on his best clothes.’
‘And his mother just came and took him away, you say?’
‘Ay, sir. She’s a milliner. Premises in Silver Street, the lad said. Reckon she has better things in mind for him than going for a soldier.’
‘You spoke to her?’
‘No, she gave me no chance, but I made enquiries afterwards and went to her shop, but she threatened to bring the constable.’
‘Did she indeed? Well, Serjeant Collins, we’re going to have to make one last effort tomorrow. You’re going to Westbury for the fair this afternoon?’
‘Ay, sir. But I’ve been told there was a company of foot there for a month and more and took a fair number of men with them.’
‘Yes, I’d heard that too, which is why I’m contemplating going onto the Common to see what we can find.’
Collins looked wary. ‘Sir, there were men in here last night — and not preachy types — who said that the best thing that could happen to Warminster Common was for the plague to take a hold and then the flames.’
‘Are you saying we should not go?’
‘Sir, with respect, it’s you who are from these parts.’
‘My sister believes there are some likely men.’
Serjeant Collins accepted without question that his captain’s sister could properly know such a thing. ‘Has she names, sir? That would be a start.’
‘Three, yes.’
‘And how would you wish me to do it, sir — with the trumpets, as here?’
‘We could try that, yes. But I shall come with you, Sar’nt Collins. I can’t very well ask you to go to the biggest fencing crib this side of Bristol while I sit at home waiting.’
Hervey expected a protest, but Collins was of quite the opposite opinion. ‘It’s bound to have an effect. I’ll warrant they never see a gentleman there other than the parson.’
Hervey stayed an hour with him, but no ‘Fellows wanting to tread the path of Adventure’ came to The Bell in that time, and at eleven he left to go to the milliner’s in Silver Street. He was not content to leave so promising-sounding a recruit to the protective clutches of a ‘respectable’ mother.
Hervey wore plain clothes this morning, and was doubly glad of it since he supposed he would not therefore be immediately barred entry from Mrs Rudd’s shop. She smiled at him, indeed, when he entered, and asked him to take a seat while she attended to another customer. He sat looking about him at the lace, the ribbons, and all manner of fancy goods that might brighten a townswoman’s day. There were hats, too, in various stages of construction. Here was a skilled and artistic trade, and it was evident that Mrs Rudd was a true proficient. He wondered if Elizabeth had ever come here.
When Mrs Rudd’s customer was gone, Hervey made himself known at once. This put the milliner in a difficult position — as he had gambled — since in her trade she could ill afford to be abusive and dismissive of a gentleman, even if she were inclined to be. ‘Mrs Rudd — I may call you that, may I?’
She nodded guardedly.
‘I understand that your son expressed an interest in joining my troop.’ He had decided to make his approach as personal as he could.
‘The boy is very young, sir, and does not know his own mind.’ Hervey saw how to deal with both objections. ‘My serjeant was most impressed with him. Although he may be young, my serjeant — who is but seven and twenty himself — believes he has the makings. And if you are in any degree troubled that he might not be suited to the profession, then I g
ive you my word that he may have his free discharge at any time during his training.’
‘I am obliged, sir. But it has always been the intention that Stephen continued in this trade. He has made a very good start.’
Hervey judged it better not to try to counter a mother’s hopes. ‘They are beautiful hats, Mrs Rudd.’
‘Thank you, sir.’ She managed a sort of smile.
‘And there seems no reason why Stephen should not continue in the trade after serving the King.’ He judged her loyalties to be firmly Tory.
Mrs Rudd looked uncomfortable at the inference which might be drawn if she persisted. ‘May I speak freely, sir? And I mean no offence. And we are all grateful and proud of what was done in the wars. But you see, sir, to have a son go for a soldier is not … that is, families in respectable trades such as ours …’
Hervey smiled as benevolently as he could. ‘Of course, Mrs Rudd. I perfectly understand. But we are light dragoons. You saw what sort of man my serjeant was, and those about him.’ It was perhaps fortunate at this exact moment that Armstrong had not been in charge of the party; there could be ‘misunderstandings’ with Serjeant-Major Armstrong.
‘We attend divine service every Sunday at the Minster, sir.’
‘I myself am a clergyman’s son, Mrs Rudd. And a bible and prayer book are provided for every soldier by the Naval and Military Bible Society.’ He sensed he was beginning to overwhelm her objections.
‘And he would be properly treated?’
Hervey could answer with absolute assurance. ‘The officers have as close a feeling for their men as any in the service, Mrs Rudd.’ He judged it now the moment to make a personal guarantee. ‘You would be most welcome to communicate with my father, the Vicar of Horningsham, at any time.’
Next morning, Hervey rode early to The Bell, to find Serjeant Collins looking troubled. ‘Have you seen the news, sir — about Manchester?’
Hervey had not. Collins handed him the Daily Courant:
Manchester, August 16th
SLAUGHTER OF INNOCENTS
This day in Manchester has been witness to scenes so infamous as to beggar description. At One o’clock p.m. a large but peaceable assembly of respectable men together with their families was at St Peter’s field to hear the Radical speaker Henry Hunt address them on the propriety of adopting the most legal and effectual means of obtaining a reform of the Common House of Parliament. The Magistrates had sworn in four hundred Special Constables to serve on the day of the meeting, and also had at their disposal a military force composed of Cavalry, Infantry and Horse Artillery. Shortly after One o’clock Mr Hunt arrived to great acclamation and bands playing, and began addressing the crowd which by various estimates were in excess of Fifty Thousand Persons, but no sooner had he begun but the Magistrates ordered a Troop of The Manchester and Salford Yeomanry to arrest the speaker, and thereupon the Corps charged the crowd with great violence so that within a short time there were many dead and dying on the field and divers more cruelly maimed, and the exigency was made the worse by the appearance soon afterwards of Troops of Regular Cavalry, namely the Fifteenth Light Dragoons, who disported themselves with no less restraint than the Yeomanry.
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