A Regimental Affair mh-3

by Allan Mallinson

  When the time came for the patrol to leave, Henrietta said her goodbyes nobly, bidding her husband a happy, even carefree, farewell. She had, after all, a good reserve of novels, she assured him, and the frequent company of Lady Sarah Maitland. And he in turn was content to believe that her anxiety had been of the moment only, exacerbated by his clumsy reassurance. And if he had been alarmed to know the truth, he would have been proud nevertheless to know how completely she had been taken on strength, how completely she now played the role of captain’s lady – though not so much for the sake of the Molly O’Gradys but for the man she considered was her very life.

  From an upstairs window a little later, Henrietta watched the half-troop parade for the lieutenant-governor. Thirty-two dragoons and four officers – the lieutenant colonel, adjutant, Hervey, and Seton Canning – ranked past Sir Peregrine Maitland in their red cloaks as the trumpet-major and four trumpeters blew the general salute. Red cloaks against the snow: confident, uncompromising contrast, just like Hervey himself. ‘Please God, deliver him,’ she prayed passionately, clutching her hands together. ‘Deliver him from evil, and from himself.’

  Outside the gates Major Lawrence joined them, on a hardylooking cob, together with two Cayuga Indians equally sure mounted. The three were well wrapped in buckskin, fox and beaver, their feet especially.

  Lawrence stared incredulously at the patrol. ‘Why in God’s name are you not wearing winter warms, Hervey? When the sun goes you’ll turn to blocks of ice.’

  ‘We’re going to trot in a minute or so,’ replied Hervey.

  ‘Then you’ll be warmer while you do.’ Lawrence frowned. ‘But you can’t trot the whole way to Burlington. And on this snow if you rush it you’ll have falls. Four or five inches down there’s ice like glass, and this fresh stuff will ball up too.’

  ‘To tell the truth, my intention is to catch up the bat-horses.’

  ‘You’ll be sorely pressed to do that: they left an hour ago!’

  Hervey paused just long enough to judge his secret safe with the superintendent. ‘I told them they were to mark time at the first five-mile point.’

  Lawrence smiled. ‘That was wise as well as cunning. But I promise you you’ll never make the same mistake of parting from your supply again after an hour of this in cloaks and boots!’

  Hervey sighed. ‘That’s what I was hoping,’ he said with a sort of knowing frown. ‘Why are you come, incidentally?’

  ‘I’ve called a meeting of my field officers at Fort Erie. It seemed opportune.’

  ‘And the Indians are your escorts?’

  Lawrence smiled indulgently. ‘I rather fancied they would do you well as scouts.’

  ‘Ah, yes, indeed. I’m very grateful. Shall I send two dragoons with them?’

  ‘I think not. They’ll be happier left alone.’ He nodded to the Indians.

  The Cayugas sped off at once to take the far point. The Iroquois were not known as a horse nation, but that was not apparent as they put their ponies into a canter in a very few paces. And besides being able to warn early of anything that might hinder the patrol’s progress, they would be excellent guides, it seemed; for in the dusting of snow, as Lawrence called it, which the dawn had brought, their tracks stood out plainly. Not that taking a false turn on Dundas Street seemed likely, since on either side was a formidable barrier of fir trees. Only here and there would they find a clearing for a dwelling house, or where timber had been cut for a more distant purpose.

  Serjeant Armstrong had been let in on the bat-horse plan only late that morning, and he had obligingly continued to pretend he had no idea that Hervey was acting other than with an entirely free hand. The bat-horses’ tracks looked as fresh as the Cayugas’, for there was no wind to drift the snow, and the sun was not strong enough to melt so much as one snowflake on a pine needle. But they were not the trailing lines of trotting horses, and certainly not the furrows of the Cayugas’ hand-gallop. Clarkson was doing his job – thank God.

  Major Lawrence had fallen in beside the lieutenant colonel as the patrol set off, but he soon found him too taciturn to persist with, and so Hervey had his company again before not too long. And glad of it he would be, too, for otherwise Dundas Street was but cold monotony.

  It was not long before they made the rendezvous with the bathorses, however, and Lord Towcester’s obvious relief was such that Hervey did not even bother with the lines he had rehearsed. They had ridden for little more than an hour, yet he knew they would soon have had men slipping into winter torpor. He had seen it once before, in the Astorgias. It was the easy way: they would stop fighting the cold, allow the numbness to come, and then a sleep they would not emerge from.

  In that hour, too, they had not seen any living thing of the wild, nor even a trace of one. There would surely be no more talk of living off the land. Indeed, the lieutenant colonel now seemed content to let Hervey have command of the patrol in all its details, and did not object when he ordered horses to be led from time to time, even though he himself had made his objections to the practice known often enough.

  The rest of the march to Fort George was as without incident as the country was without wildlife. An owl was heard in the night, and some birds briefly at first light. But the call of the wolf, which the men had hourly expected (and keenly so), did not come. The bivouac at Burlington was a hard one, and a wolf’s call would have been some consolation, something of which to write home to thrill the humdrum, for little sleep was had by any. The campfires had seemed without heat, the rum without ability to warm beyond a few minutes. Resuming the march, if not actually a pleasure, had been a relief; except that everywhere the forest enveloped them, the trees so heavy with snow that it seemed as if they were beneath the walls of some great white city. For miles there was nothing else to see. And the steamy breath of six dozen horses and men gave it an eeriness quite unlike anything Hervey had seen before – or, for that matter, Armstrong too.

  But Fort George welcomed them generously. Its quartermaster was relieved to have an opportunity to break out the stores, for he had laid in provisions for twice the number of troops that would need them now the threat of hostilities seemed certain to be past. The patrol ate well on salt pork and buffalo, pickled pomme blanche and compote, and they slept well in the stove-heated barracks. Lord Towcester was entertained by the fort’s commandant, and retired early, leaving Hervey to listen to one of Major Lawrence’s field officers.

  ‘The condition of the Six Nations between the Erie and the Huron is daily more distressing,’ said the lieutenant, an officer who had been so long seconded to the Indian Department that he still referred to his own regiment as the Royal Americans. ‘It’s the want of game, everywhere. Three of the hunting groups have already broken camp and moved to find other grounds, and they haven’t had to do that in more than a generation.’

  ‘Why is there so little game?’ asked Hervey. He understood this winter to be a not especially hard one.

  ‘The winter’s by no means the harshest,’ replied the lieutenant. ‘And that’s puzzling the Six Nations too. But there’s no doubting the deer and the bear have gone – and the beaver above all. Some of the younger braves are saying it’s the fault of the white man. They know he doesn’t rob them or harry them as his cousin below the Lakes does, but they reckon he upsets the balance of things in the wilderness.’

  ‘And do you think that resentment will turn against us?’ Hervey was intrigued rather than anxious.

  ‘Well,’ said the lieutenant, noting that Major Lawrence too was waiting intently on the reply, ‘I’ve heard talk again of the affair of the Niagara scalplock, and how it spoke for the way the white man would abandon his Indian friends to save his own skin when the time came. The braves wonder how long it will be before the white man above and below the Lakes makes common cause against them.’

  ‘Are there other voices?’ said Major Lawrence, relighting his cigar.

  ‘Yes, the elders are saying that spring will see the return of the deer, the b
ear and the beaver. But again, the younger braves point out that, after the spring, and the summer, and the autumn, there will come another winter.’

  They sat late into the small hours talking of what it might come to.

  They left Fort George at nine the next morning, red cloaks over winter warms. It must have been a good display to the American garrison across the river. Lord Towcester seemed content that it was, steadfastly refusing even to glance towards Fort Niagara, such was his contempt for the American revolutionaries, as he insisted on calling them.

  They made the heights of Queenston before eleven. They passed above the falls after midday, hearing more than they saw of the great cataract, though the winter flow was a trickle compared with the spring thaw. They took their ease for an hour in Chippeway, where reports of their progress brought out villagers bearing kettles and pots of boiling water even as they rode up. In the afternoon they passed through the rich settlements of the upper Niagara, and on down to Fort Erie, arriving a little before last light. Here the evening was much as the one before, with another of Major Lawrence’s field officers confirming the troubling assessment of the Indians’ condition, although he was not inclined to believe that the younger braves’ blaming the white man would come to much once spring began to show.

  Next morning, snow was falling as the troop mustered for the return march, and there was talk of staying at the fort until it stopped. But Lord Towcester saw no reason why they should not at least set out, for between Fort Erie and Chippeway there was shelter enough if the snow became heavier, and they could bivouac at any number of places if things came to the worst. He had matters pressing in plenty at York. Hervey was content enough with the condition of the troop after his morning inspection, and so they left by the road they had come on at a quarter to ten, the Cayuga scouts this time taking a much closer point since visibility was reduced.

  Major Lawrence decided not to return with them, however. He intended taking the ferry across the river to Buffalo to meet with his counterpart there, to discover what policy the United States would be adopting towards their Indians in the spring. Rumours of inevitable displacements had already reached him in York from diplomatic sources in Montreal, and Mr Bagot himself had thought that the settlers’ inroads west of the Missouri would soon unravel Washington’s resettlement policy.

  They made the fifteen miles to Chippeway just after midday. The snow had stopped falling soon after they set off, and they had been able to maintain a brisk trot for a mile or so at a time. They made a brief halt at the village, where the people showed the same alacrity in hospitality as the day before, and the dragoons were again able to eat hot without the trouble of dismounting their own camp kettles.

  Lord Towcester summoned Hervey to his side. ‘See here, there is no need at all of our spending another night at Fort George. I consider there to be no purpose in it, anyway. We can take this road here’ – he indicated the line with a gloved finger, rather indistinctly – ‘along Lundy’s Lane to begin with. There was some skirmish of cavalry in the war there, so it must be passable to the horse. We may then proceed to the road from Queenston to Burlington that runs atop the ridge, instead of skirting the lake. It will save us all of eight leagues, and a further night.’

  Hervey was not so sure. Indeed, he felt uneasy. If the lieutenant colonel wished to curtail the patrol, that was of course his prerogative, and he assumed that Lord Towcester possessed that discretion in Sir Peregrine’s orders. But the distance by this direct route was, even at a rough calculation, not much short of fortyfive miles. They had at best five hours of daylight left, though the moon and snow would make movement at night along a road relatively easy. But if the weather were to change again, the route could be treacherous. And the road through the forest to the Burlington ridge looked little better than a track.

  ‘Do you think we should ask the Indians, your lordship?’

  ‘Confound the Indians, Captain Hervey! Do you even know enough of their language? They’ll do as they’re damn well told!’

  Lord Towcester was clearly in one of his peremptory moods, but Hervey felt bound to risk one more objection. ‘We might be benighted, though, sir, however well we do.’

  ‘In Heaven’s name, Captain Hervey! I heard tell at Fort George of a woman who went on foot this way during the war, and warned our men of an attack! You’re not telling me you’re afraid to take to the woods on a horse if a confounded woman can do it on her feet!’

  Hervey had heard of Mrs Secord’s fearless journey. But she had walked from Queenston not Chippeway, and in the middle of summer. He thought it useless to point this out to Lord Towcester, however. ‘Very good, your lordship. I will tell the scouts,’ he said, wondering to himself if he could.

  In fact, communicating with the scouts was not as difficult as Hervey expected. He was able to get them to comprehend his intentions easily enough in a mixture of English and simple sign language (the map, predictably, was of no use to the proceedings). They were evidently unhappy with the news – for three reasons, as far as he could make out. First, the road was difficult, with many ups and downs and streams to cross. Then they made signs indicating that night would fall on them, and finally something about passing through land which the Mississauga hunted. Hervey was only too relieved that they did not turn and walk away when he told them he intended taking the road anyway. But it was his first taste of an Indian’s displeasure, even in that brief exchange, and it was not palatable.

  He called Serjeant Armstrong aside and made a clean breast of things. ‘I’ll not say anything to Mr Seton Canning, but it’s as well you know my apprehension. I dare say all will be well. We’ll end up huddled in the forest after midnight when the moon sets, but that we can bear. And the Indians will be used to people riding through if there’s a road cut, so they can’t be all that troubled by our doing so. But I want NCOs’ pistols primed all the same. No others, mind.’

  Armstrong nodded. ‘I was talking to them Indians last night. They’re worried where all the game’s going – all of them are. Some of the tribes are starving.’

  Hervey could only admire his serjeant’s way with men. ‘Major Lawrence’s officers have been telling me this as well.’

  ‘I suggest we take flints out of weapons, too – except the NCOs, I mean. If one of them greenheads’ pistols goes off . . .’

  Hervey nodded. ‘Ay. It doesn’t bear thinking about.’

  In the event, the road was better than Hervey had imagined, but narrow. They rode in file rather than threes, though, and from time to time the files had to merge. But the snow hadn’t settled so deep as on the road they had left, and it didn’t ball in the hooves. They managed some good trots in the first ten miles. The Cayugas rode very close point, however, not once losing sight behind. They seemed distinctly less at ease than on the ride out, and not a word passed between them.

  The forest impressed its silence on the dragoons, too. For the most part, the only sound was the occasional snort from their plodding troopers, or the jingling of a bridoon, or the chink of stirrups as the files came too close. Looking left or right into the forest, Hervey could not imagine the sound travelling more than a few yards in that mass of fir, beech and elm. It looked more impenetrable than anything he had seen in India, even. And all the time there was neither sight nor sound of another living thing, on the ground, in the trees or overhead.

  The Mississaugas came out of the forest like some sudden, mechanical change of scenery on a stage. There seemed no movement, only appearance – a dozen or so warriors at the same instant, in the same attitude, well wrapped in long moosehide coats, full hair to the shoulders, faces dyed red above the cheekbones. They stood, rifle in left hand, motionless and wholly impassive.

  The Cayugas halted – froze. Lord Towcester drew his pistol, pulling back the hammer with his left hand. He lost his grip, grabbed as it fell, but missed. It hit the ground handle first, springing the hammer. The noise was like a cannon in the silence. He spun his horse round.


  ‘Threes about! Threes about!’ he shouted. But there was no room for even files to turn. He barged at Hervey and his trumpeter to make way.

  Hervey was so startled, he grabbed his arm. ‘Sir, they’ve gone, they’ve gone.’

  Lord Towcester turned in the saddle. The Mississaugas had disappeared as suddenly as they had come. He was dumbstruck.

  ‘We should trot on, sir,’ pressed Hervey. ‘Look, the scouts are doing the same!’ He seized the lieutenant colonel’s reins and pulled his horse into motion.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  ORDERS JUST RECEIVED

  Fort York, two days later

  The quarter guard turned out as the patrol neared the gates. Twelve dragoons of the inlying picket brought their carbines to the present, and the corporal brought his sabre to the carry. The trumpeters blew ‘Attention’, and orderlies stood ready to take the reins of the chargers.

  The Earl of Towcester acknowledged the respects without halting. ‘Carry on, Captain Hervey,’ he said, barely audibly, his right leg already out of the stirrup. The lieutenant colonel’s groom took in hand the big black gelding and, without a backward glance or another word, Lord Towcester strode away to his quarters, the adjutant a few paces behind him.

  Hervey fronted to the patrol. ‘The commanding officer would wish me to express his appreciation of your exertions this past week. The conditions were trying and your conduct exemplary. There shall be a rum issue and stand-down of twenty-four hours from watch-setting this evening. Fall out, Mr Seton Canning. Carry on, please, Serjeant Armstrong.’

  ‘I’ll see to stables, if you wish, Hervey,’ said Seton Canning as they dismounted.

  ‘Thank you. Yes.’ How decent of his lieutenant to guess so much of his mind. Henrietta would have claimed him anyway, in her condition, but Canning was not to know how keenly Hervey wanted to relate to her Lord Towcester’s infamous conduct. ‘I shan’t be long. Just an hour, perhaps.’