On His Majesty's Service mh-11 Page 3

  ‘I thought that it bespoke history the last time I passed through the arch, but did not remark on it,’ said Fairbrother, watching through a frosted window the change of mounted sentries below. ‘Why is it, do you suppose, that the videttes stand on this side and not at what is manifestly the front of the building?’

  ‘I may tell you very precisely,’ replied Hervey, nodding his thanks to a porter who had brought them coffee, ‘because I asked the same question of John Howard some years ago.’

  But before he could give any explanation the orderly returned to take him to his call. He nodded to Fairbrother – he would wait here, as ‘arranged’ – and then walked along the familiar corridor, spurs ringing, to the antechamber of the commander-in-chief’s office, where sat Lieutenant-Colonel the Honourable Valentine Youell working at his papers.

  Hervey saluted as he entered, a courtesy rather than a requirement, the custom on entering an office, no matter what the rank of its occupant. In like fashion the staff lieutenant-colonel rose to acknowledge the salutation with a military bow, if perhaps more stiffly (reckoned Hervey) than would his old friend John Howard.

  ‘I have brought with me Captain Edward Fairbrother of the Corps of Cape Mounted Riflemen,’ Hervey explained as he took the proffered chair. ‘I wish to present him to Lord Hill on account of his service there.’

  Colonel Youell looked doubtful. ‘I am not sure that without due notice the commander-in-chief will receive an officer, Colonel Hervey. And a captain at that.’

  Had Youell simply voiced his perfectly reasonable reservation as to the propriety of an unscheduled call, Hervey would have taken no offence, but disregard on account of mere rank vexed him. He had the highest estimation of the Foot Guards, but occasionally their officers could show excessive attachment to form – especially when they had not been shot over. He could not check himself in replying truculently, ‘We shall see.’

  The remark brought a stifled groan from Youell: for his part, he never failed to be astonished by how little officers at regimental duty had regard for the difficulties under which the Horse Guards laboured. ‘Wait here, Colonel Hervey, if you will,’ he replied, with some weariness, gathering up a portfolio and moving to the door of the commander-in-chief’s office.

  Inside, Lord Hill was coming to the end of a memorandum from the chief secretary for Ireland. He looked up, took off his spectacles and said, with an appreciable sigh of relief, ‘The chief secretary is of the opinion that there is no need of reinforcement.’ He rubbed his eyes. He had been bracing himself for days in the expectation of having to find more troops for Ireland. ‘Leveson-Gower’s a most excellent fellow. Few in his place would have expressed themselves content, even knowing how damnably in want of men I am at this time. I would that the duke hastened his Relief bill and have done with the business. Or else vote me supply enough.’

  Colonel Youell considered that it was not his to reply. The Duke of Wellington, for a decade and a half the prime soldier of Europe, and for a year the prime minister of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, was no longer the bulwark of the old order. His bill for ‘the Relief of His Majesty’s Roman Catholic Subjects’ – which, not long before, he and his home secretary, Robert Peel, had so steadfastly set their face against – was daily expected on the floor of the House of Commons; as was disorder the length and breadth of the realm.

  ‘And for that matter I would that Peel hastened his Police bill. It’s all very well for the Secretary at War to be disbanding regiments of dragoons, but if Bow Street insists on patrols every day, how’s it to be done. Eh? And dragoons sent all over the country to keep the peace: what the deuce are those Yeomanry fellows about that they can’t scatter a few labourers?’

  ‘Indeed, my lord.’ Lord Hill’s question, Youell understood from experience, was entirely rhetorical. The commander-in-chief knew as well as he that the Yeomanry were all too adept at scattering labourers, as well as hand-loom weavers and even passably peaceful citizens of Manchester deluded enough to want to listen to Orator Hunt. The problem was that the yeoman seemed incapable of giving the flat of the sword rather than the edge. It was ten years since ‘Peterloo’, but they had not been ten years of any marked progress.

  Lord Hill shook his head, and sighed. ‘Very well, Youell; send Leveson-Gower my expressions of appreciation. Is that all?’

  ‘Colonel Hervey is here, my lord.’

  Lord Hill brightened at the sudden prospect of diversion. ‘Splendid. Where’s that despatch from Lord Bingham? I don’t recall reading it.’

  ‘I placed it on your table yesterday, my lord.’

  ‘Ah. Bingham is well, then, do we suppose?’

  ‘He is well, my lord. Quite recovered, it would seem from his despatch. But that we knew already.’

  Lord Hill became agitated. ‘Quite so. I do consider it highhanded of him to return to his estates in Ireland without presenting himself here first, no matter how turbulent the situation of his tenantry. And, indeed, so I understand, finding occasion to attend various drawing rooms before posting to Holyhead, telling all and sundry of his eastern sojourn … And not to render a complete account of what has transpired other than to refer us to his despatches, which appear to travel very much more slowly than does his lordship.’

  Colonel Youell could only sympathize; trying to regulate the Earl of Lucan’s elder son was, by all accounts, a fool’s errand. ‘Indeed, Lord Hill.’

  ‘Do you recollect the despatch? Are you able to give me its import – until I have opportunity to peruse it fully?’

  Youell, anticipating the request for a summary, had underlined the salient sentences in the copy made for the record. He had done so, too, with a certain distaste (which would have come as a surprise to Hervey): he had not met George Bingham, but what he had heard did not dispose him to think at all highly of an officer so improbably rich and assured of his right to command. For though Bingham was not yet thirty, with the wealth of his father’s Irish estates at his disposal, he had been able to purchase, for a sum, it was said, approaching £22,000, the lieutenant-colonelcy of the 17th Lancers. But there again, to his credit he had travelled to the seat of war between the Tsar and the Sultan so that he might be shot over – officially, to accompany the Russian army in their campaign against the Ottomans in Bulgaria, and to relate what he observed to the Horse Guards – for although wealth might buy the Seventeenth smarter uniforms and better horseflesh, it was no substitute for some schooling in other than mock battle.

  He took the fair copy from his portfolio. ‘It is written off Varna, my lord, aboard His Imperial Majesty’s ship Pallas, whither Lord Bingham had been taken by stretcher, and is signed the seventeenth of September. I fancy it must therefore have come by St Petersburg. We had the ambassador’s despatch a full month before, by Constantinople.’ He read aloud the underlined passages:

  To the Commander-in-chief of His Majesty’s Land ForcesHorse GuardsLondon

  My Lord,I have the honour to report that I accompanied His Imperial Majesty, Autocrat of all the Russias, and His Excellency the Ambassador to the seat of the War at Varna, where by His Majesty’s order Count Woronzov took command on the 29th of August from Adjutant-general Menshikov who had been wounded in one of the Turk sorties. The approach to Varna by His Majesty’s forces was first assayed on June 28, but the Russian avantgardes were met by considerable Ottoman forces, and the siege postponed. The appointment of Count Woronzov was signalized by a sortie made in force during the succeeding night, against the right of the Russian trenches. The Arnauts entered the redoubt sword in hand through the embrasures, but were repulsed, after a determined struggle, by the efforts of a regiment called after His Grace the Duke of Wellington. The 31st was then remarkable for a considerable number of attacks and counterattacks by the besieged and the besiegers, who alternately attacked the flank of their adversary. Towards the close of the day, the Turks mastered some strong ground near the enemy’s right, on which they planted five of their standards, but during the
night General Woinoff regained this position, though with great difficulty. A Turkish lunette was carried at the same moment, but it was retaken next morning by a storming party sent for the purpose from the garrison.Between the 1st and 8th of September two additional redoubts were constructed by the besiegers, and a second parallel was attempted by flying sap, under cover of fresh batteries. These played directly on the guns of the fortress, instead of the more usual, and I might say scientific, ricochet fire.On the 8th of September, the Emperor Nicholas returned by land from Odessa with reinforcements, sixteen battalions and as many squadrons which, in addition to the guards and sappers, gave an effective force of more than 20,000 men before Varna, exclusive of the corps detached to the southern side of the fortress to intercept any relief force, and of another which occupied Pravadi.The enterprising spirit of the people of Varna, I venture to say, was elevated rather than daunted by the hosts which now threatened their walls, and perceiving a regiment of Cossacks rather in advance, covering a reconnoitring party, 500 Delis made a sudden dash and drove them back. It was on this occasion that my horse was shot from under me and I was rendered incapable.Between that time when I was taken into the charge of the surgeon of His Majesty’s own flagship and this day, the explosion of a considerable mine effected a breach in the bastion at the easternmost angle. Still the Pasha, who was yet faithful to his trust, indignantly refused to receive a summons to capitulate. At this point, however, the difficulties attending the transport of heavy guns through Bulgaria had been at length overcome, and the siege train arrived from Brailow to replace the guns landed by the fleet. At the time at which I write, additional batteries have therefore now opened to render the breach more practicable, and I am myself to rejoin Count Woronzow’s suite presently …

  Lord Hill raised a hand. ‘I’m obliged. As you say, its intelligence is somewhat in arrears: this much we knew from the ambassador. See that Colonel Hervey reads it. You know, I was not minded to send anyone to observe this affair – Bingham can be deuced unrelenting – but I am certain now that it can only be to our advantage to see how these armies fare. The reforms in both are said to be considerable, but I wonder to what end? With a man like Hervey observing, we might have answer.’

  ‘Indeed, my lord. Will you see him now?’

  ‘I will.’ The commander-in-chief pushed aside his papers with an air of relish. ‘At what time is the levee at Prince Lieven’s?’

  ‘Twelve, my lord.’

  ‘Capital. I would not wish the interview to be hurried.’ He smiled. ‘I might even be able to impart some information to Lieven. He pressed me only yesterday at the Austrian ambassador’s to know who would replace Bingham, and when.’

  ‘Some might speculate on whether the inquiry were on the Princess’s behalf, my lord.’ Youell’s wryness was all the more for its being infrequent.

  ‘Indeed. Hah! What schemes Princess Lieven has to her name.’

  The door was opened, and Hervey ushered in. He put his feet together noisily in the Prussian style and saluted, a confident presenting to the man who disposed the future of every officer in the army.

  ‘Daddy’ Hill, as he had been known throughout the Peninsular army for his attention to the comforts of his men, looked for all the world like an elderly cleric, his coat dark, his pate bald and his form somewhat portly. The contrast in appearance with the previous occupant of the commander-in-chief’s office could not have been more profound.

  ‘My lord.’

  ‘Hervey, I am excessively glad to see you,’ declared Lord Hill, rising and extending a hand. ‘Nothing warms the heart better on a day such as this than to see an old friend return safe from the fray.’

  Hervey was taken aback, but agreeably, by the appellation ‘old friend’, for although he had galloped for the general at Talavera (and Lord Hill was not one to forget a service, especially one so capable as his had been that day), to be admitted to such a sphere, if in words alone, was honour indeed. All he could manage, however, was ‘Thank you, my lord.’

  ‘I have read your despatches with careful attention, and Sir Henry Hardinge likewise. I dare say there’ll be a ribbon in it.’

  The attention of Sir Henry Hardinge, the Secretary at War, and a soldier of some distinction himself – this was recognition indeed, let alone the ribbon (‘C.B.’, with which he had been honoured after the storming of Bhurtpore two years before, was already notable for an officer with so recent a half-colonelcy). ‘I am glad to have been able to do my duty, General. As did others in that expedition – for one, Captain Fairbrother of the Cape Rifles, whom I should very much wish to present to you, sir.’

  ‘By all means, Hervey. And stand easy.’ He turned to Colonel Youell. ‘Have Captain Fairbrother’s name entered for the next levee, would you?’

  ‘Certainly, my lord.’

  Hervey cleared his throat. ‘My lord, Captain Fairbrother has accompanied me from the Cape, and indeed he is here with me this morning. I had hoped you would receive him.’

  Lord Hill frowned. ‘That is most irregular, Hervey. I stand not on great ceremony but I cannot have the business of the Horse Guards conducted with a complete absence of it.’

  Hervey felt suddenly discomposed; he had evidently misjudged matters – overreached himself, even. ‘I beg your pardon, my lord.’

  Colonel Youell now cleared his throat. ‘There is time before Prince Lieven’s, my lord.’

  A smile displaced the commander-in-chief’s frown. ‘Very well. We shall receive your Captain Fairbrother. But first sit you down, Hervey. Take some Madeira.’

  Hervey removed his forage cap, took a glass from the tray which an orderly brought, and sat in an armchair half-facing the commander-in-chief’s desk and the windows which looked out on to the parade ground. Snow was now falling so thick as to make St James’s Park at the far side quite invisible.

  Lord Hill observed it too. ‘You were not with us on that blessèd trudge to Corunna, were you, Youell?’

  ‘I was not, my lord.’ Youell did not add that he had been fevered on Martinique with General Maitland, a gentleman volunteer not yet seventeen.

  ‘Damnably cold, and the army behaved ill – not every regiment, not by any means, but too many. Badly served by their officers, some of them, and scandalously ill-provisioned. But that was no excuse.’

  None of this could have been unknown to Youell, reckoned Hervey; and he wondered at Lord Hill’s purpose. ‘All of them fought well at Corunna, though, sir,’ he tried, risking rebuke in speaking unbidden, and seemingly to contradict.

  But Lord Hill better than most knew how well they had fought that day, for he had commanded the brigade on the left flank, astride the road to the town. ‘The point is, Hervey, if the retreat had continued another week we’d scarcely have had an army left to fight with at Corunna.’ He looked out at the snow again. ‘Look here, you will dine with me this day week, and we shall speak then of your duties in the east. There’s nothing arising from your Cape despatches of which we need speak now; they are admirably clear. But I have to tell you one thing – and though it is not for me to do so, I feel the obligation since it was I who selected you to command of the Sixth.’

  Indeed it was, Hervey knew – and without purchase. ‘I have not had opportunity to thank you, my lord.’

  Lord Hill looked uneasy. ‘Yes, yes, that is all very well – and I do not need thanks for doing my duty – but matters are not as they were. I am fighting a damnably bloody war of retrenchment. I have had to give orders for the Sixth and two other regiments to be reduced, to be placed en cadre – a depot squadron, a hundred men, no more.’

  Hervey felt his stomach turn as badly as it could before a fight. ‘For how long, sir?’

  ‘Indefinitely. They’re supposed to be disbanded: that is what Hardinge asked, but I’ve managed to persuade him that the economy in placing them en cadre is almost as great, and the general situation too uncertain to risk complete disbandment – far easier to re-raise than if they had been wholly struck from the li
st.’

  Hervey was now on the edge of his chair. ‘But, sir, why the Sixth? Our seniority, our late service in India, our—’

  ‘Colonel Hervey,’ warned Youell, firmly but with a note of respect nevertheless.

  ‘Forgive me, my lord, but it makes no sense to reduce a regiment which has acquired such expertise in its trade. Why cannot those late sent to India be recalled?’

  ‘Colonel Hervey, remember your place, sir,’ repeated Youell, though more as entreaty than command.

  Lord Hill huffed, but with the air of a man challenged reasonably enough. ‘Hervey, let me explain to you the very grave situation the Horse Guards finds itself in.’ (By ‘Horse Guards’ Hervey knew that Hill meant he himself.) ‘The army estimates are in course of preparation as we speak. They require a reduction of eight thousand men. To this end I have it in mind that every battalion is diminished by fifty men, that four companies of one of the penal corps are disbanded as well as the whole of the Staff Corps – some twelve hundred men – though I believe we might transfer a thousand of these to the Board of Ordnance.’ He smiled grimly at the ruse.

  Hervey could well appreciate the Horse Guards’ difficulties, for if such sleights of hand to overcome a reduction in supply were being employed, the situation must indeed be disadvantageous. But all the same, if there were not troops enough for every call on them, why reduce the cavalry when they possessed the greatest celerity of movement?

  Lord Hill appeared to read his mind. ‘And yet the calls on the army are no less insistent, not least in Ireland and in Canada. I need hardly point out that the cost of a regiment of cavalry is twice that, and more, of infantry. There are one hundred and three battalions of the Line, and seventy-four of these are abroad. It is His Majesty’s government’s policy that troops in foreign stations should be relieved every ten years – that is to say, at the rate of seven battalions a year; but where are the reliefs to be found if there are only enough battalions at home to last for four years? Ministers, as is their wont, put forward makeshift after makeshift. But it will not serve.’