An Act Of Courage h-7 Read online

  Badajoz, the same day

  Hervey sat down again as the door closed. It had been three days since he had given Dr Sanchez his letter for Dom Mateo, and there had been no acknowledgement from Elvas. Sanchez had assured him he need not worry: the ‘authorities’ had no objection to a reasonable correspondence. Indeed, they believed it would help secure his prompt release – on the proper terms. It was just that the couriers were slow; and, no doubt, the censor too. But to Hervey there could be no terms. He could no more give his parole than he could turn and run in the face of the foe. It was unthinkable to promise not to bear arms against the King’s enemies merely to gain one’s release, prompt or otherwise. Parole was for dilettanti, not for ‘professional’ officers. And, as if to rub salt into the wound, although he did not truly imagine they intended it, by the terms of the parole which the ‘authorities’ had now placed before him, he was to quit the country by means of a merchantman from Corunna.

  No place was calculated to stir memories of ignominy like Corunna. In all that had passed since, in his heights and in his depths, Corunna still had the power to shock him, to sadden him, to make him anger faster than most everything else. He had watched the heroes of his boyhood, His Majesty’s redcoats, behave with every perversion the Mutiny Act could name during that retreat to the sea. He had watched as officers turned their back on duty; he had seen the cruellest destruction of the noblest of animals; he had witnessed craven merchant captains abandon their ships and their human cargoes; and at Plymouth, when they had finally been delivered from the nightmare, he had seen the horror in the faces of his fellow countrymen as they beheld the condition of the nation’s soldiers. He had been but seventeen, and he had wondered if there could be any recovery from such a calamity – in his own regiment not least.

  The recovery had been more rapid than anyone had supposed possible. In part this was due to Major Joseph Edmonds – or Captain Edmonds, as first he was when they came back from Corunna – whose unremitting exertions drove every man to the greatest effort. The best of the non-commissioned officers, too, had shown energy and enterprise of a high order, and the troop-officers themselves – denied leave even to request leave of absence by Edmonds – had achieved much by their mere attendance at parades. But it was the prompt appointment of a new commanding officer, and the nature of that officer, which turned endeavour into spectacular success.

  Hervey could picture it still, as if it had been two, not eighteen, years past. Lieutenant-Colonel Lord George Irvine, second son of the Marquess of Tain, arrived at the Sixth’s Canterbury depot the fortnight following their own arrival, and it was at once evident that the new commanding officer was intent on gathering up the reins without delay. Instead of a stately progress from London by a Tain chariot, he arrived in a high tandem cocking cart covered in the mud of the Brighton road, for he meant business, and the earliest start to it. Hervey recalled Edmonds’s surprise as Lord George jumped from the box, in front of the officers’ house, and began brushing the mud from his hat.

  Edmonds knew him by sight (and reputation) right enough, which was as well since Lord George’s plain clothes gave little clue to his rank. ‘Good morning, my lord,’ he said, saluting. ‘Edmonds, senior captain. We did not expect you so soon, else I should have turned out the quarter-guard.’

  Lord George Irvine smiled as he took off his travelling coat. ‘It is of no matter. And “Colonel” will serve well enough.’

  Edmonds took the outstretched hand. ‘Indeed, we had an express only this morning from Lord Sussex saying you were appointed to command. My congratulations, Colonel. I am sorry you will not find the regiment in hale condition.’

  ‘That is why I am come so soon. Tell me of it.’

  ‘You will want to retire first, Colonel. Will you come inside?’

  Lord George Irvine, invigorated by the drive, was impervious to the cold of the early February morning. ‘I think I will take a turn of the camp, if you please, Edmonds.’

  Edmonds smiled to himself appreciatively. ‘By all means.’

  They struck off towards the horse lines.

  ‘I have the scrip for your majority, by the way.’

  Edmonds guarded his relief. The promotion by death-vacancy was his by right and custom, but these were difficult times and there was no knowing what the Horse Guards might direct. Money might yet speak. He had advanced free the last time, when two captains had been appointed major on the raising of five new regiments, and before that to lieutenant when the Flanders fevers had laid low so many. A third time was fortune indeed.

  ‘I am gratified, Colonel.’

  ‘No, Edmonds, not “gratified”: you are rewarded, if all I hear is true.’

  Major Edmonds allowed himself a moment of happy contemplation. Margaret would be as relieved as he at the improvement in their situation: it was no easy thing raising two daughters and keeping an establishment on captain’s pay and two modest annuities. It was a pity the three of them had quit the depot for Norfolk when the regiment sailed for Portugal, for he had seen so little of them in the decade of war with Bonaparte, and news by letter would be flat . . .

  And then he remembered there were others who would benefit from his free promotion. ‘Lennox will be obliged, as senior lieutenant, Colonel. He is nicely fitted for a troop.’

  ‘Capital.’

  Two dragoons approached, throwing up sharp salutes as they passed.

  ‘I would speak with them, Edmonds, if you please.’

  ‘Crampton, Hardy!’

  The two men spun about and stood at attention.

  ‘Your troop, Edmonds, I presume?’

  ‘No, Colonel: D.’

  ‘Indeed?’ Lord George Irvine marked his major’s recognition of dragoons other than his own.

  ‘Both chosen-men; distinguished themselves in Portugal.’ Edmonds eyed them directly. ‘Your new commanding officer, gentlemen.’

  ‘Sir!’

  Lord George Irvine looked them up and down, carefully. ‘The patching is well executed, I must say. There’s more of it than serge, though.’

  ‘We’ve had to scour the county for cloth to patch with,’ said Edmonds. ‘I’ve had promised an issue of cloaks by the end of the month, but coats and breeches there’s no sign of.’

  It had been a point of some pride in the Sixth, even among those officers not usually given to administrative detail, that the regiment was able to patch itself into a passable state so quickly. For years after, Edmonds was as much revered for his address with interior economy as he was for the way he handled a squadron. But even Edmonds had not been able to restore the regiment’s spirits entirely, for something of their pride had gone, as it had, indeed, in the army as a whole. The retreat to Corunna had cost them dear, and the storm-tossed passage through Biscay had taken a heavy toll as well, so that all the army could do on landing in England was lick its wounds and hide from public gaze in the tatters of their regimentals. They would not be fit to send back to the Peninsula in six months, perhaps a year. Not even the cavalry, for their horses were but maggot-ridden meat on the cliffs of Corunna.

  ‘Which of you is Crampton?’ asked Lord George.

  ‘I am, Colonel.’

  ‘Do you have a cloak?’

  ‘No, Colonel. Lost it at Corunna.’

  ‘And you, Hardy?’

  ‘Lost mine an’ all, Colonel. We was in the same boat, an’ it tipped over.’

  Lord George shook his head. ‘And your sabre and carbine?’

  ‘Managed to hang on to both, Colonel.’

  ‘Good man. And you, Crampton?’

  ‘The same, Colonel. I think we all of us ’ad us carbines clipped on us belts. That were the orders, Colonel.’

  Lord George turned to his major. ‘Your orders, Edmonds?’

  ‘I’m afraid so, Colonel. I had assumed command the day before.’

  Lord George knew the unhappy circumstances well enough; Colonel Reynell’s death by his own hand was remarked throughout the service. He turned back to
the dragoons. ‘What else did you manage to save? Not much, I imagine.’

  ‘Nothing, Colonel, not even us small-pack things,’ answered Crampton for them both.

  ‘Half the regiment will say the same,’ added Edmonds. ‘We didn’t save a single trooper, burned every piece of leather, and we brought off only a few of the chargers. The paymaster has sent in a return, and we can draw from the imprest account until the losses are adjusted. But we’ve had few remounts so far. I’ve ridden as far as Lewes, buying.’

  ‘Mm. Thank you, gentlemen,’ said Lord George, turning about and touching the peak of his hat as they saluted. ‘Tell me of the captains, Edmonds.’

  Edmonds took him by way of the empty manège to ensure a little privacy and freedom from salutes. ‘You may know that Rawlings advanced to major, and has gone onto half pay.’

  ‘Yes, and Sussex believes he will remain thus for a year at least. He is really quite ill. I know him a little: he will fight to get back on the Active List, but his doctor is adamant on the matter.’

  Edmonds nodded, doubly grateful for the information, for even though Rawlings was senior, it confirmed him in the regimental (as opposed to the second) majority. ‘Twentyman has D. He boughtin a year ago from the Tenth. Very steady, he was, in Spain. Lennox shall have my troop, C. He will have a good lieutenant and quartermaster, which he will need. He is inclined to upset when things go wrong.’

  Lord George made a mental note. ‘A Richmond Lennox is he?’

  ‘Old General William’s younger son.’

  ‘Very well.’

  ‘The best by a good many lengths is Sir Edward Lankester. He has A. I had a mind he would transfer to half pay when we came back: he’s not long come into his estate, but he says he will stay until Bonaparte is in a cage.’

  ‘We may all say “Amen” to that. His brother is Ivo Lankester, I imagine?’

  ‘I can’t say I know, Colonel.’

  ‘Cornet in the Royals. No matter. Who else?’

  Edmonds cleared his throat. ‘E Troop is Underwood, who is sound, in a plodding sort of way, and F is Moore, who intends exchanging with an Indiaman. And there is Joynson, who formed the depot troop when we sailed. Since we are to re-form eight-troops-strong, he will have the seventh, and one of the captains from the Unposted List will return. Who, I don’t know.’

  ‘Joynson, I imagine, is . . . at home in a depot?’

  ‘At his worst he’s an old woman. At his best there’s no officer with a better facility for administration. The depot will be found correct to the last penny and nail.’

  ‘A most useful facility,’ declared Lord George Irvine, with perhaps more a note of determination than conviction. ‘And the others?’

  ‘The veterinary surgeon is, I’d hazard, the best in the service: John Knight.’

  ‘Ah, indeed, Knight. We are fortunate to be sure. Lord Paget spoke of him for Woodbridge, as I recall. I should be loath to lose him, even to there.’

  ‘He was the difference of a dozen remounts a month in Spain.’

  Rounding the corner of a half-empty Dutch barn, they came on A Troop’s hutted horse lines. Fresh whitewash did not entirely disguise their rackety condition.

  ‘How many shall we see here?’

  ‘A Troop is remounted, the only one complete – fifty-five. We contracted with a good man in Arundel as a matter of priority, but Lankester paid twice the price.’

  Lord George nodded. ‘Fifty-five: not strong. You didn’t lose many in Spain, though? Until having to shoot them all, I mean.’

  ‘Twenty-seven.’

  ‘And men?’

  ‘We lost thirty-one, dead or invalide. But we’ve lost that number since. Five were dead of fever by the time we landed at Plymouth, and twenty-odd coming on here. I’m surprised it wasn’t more – filthy weather, ill clad, no shelter, poor rations. A dozen are absent without leave. They might return; they weren’t bad hats.’

  Lord George shook his head; the story was not confined to the Sixth. ‘What is the sabre strength, then?’

  ‘At muster, and with local sick, we are four hundred and forty-six today.’

  Lord George raised his eyebrows. The establishment for eight troops was twice that number.

  They opened the door and went inside. At this time of a morning, between watering and second feed, the stables were quiet, with one dragoon on duty. The only sound was of teeth grinding hay, the odd chain running through its ring, and the occasional shift of a foot. Lord George took a deep breath: an officer who knew his job could smell the condition of a stable.

  ‘We did not speak of him: there is a surgeon at duty?’

  ‘Yes, and fair he is too,’ replied Edmonds, eyeing the straw in the first stall for signs of parsimony or excess. ‘But the paymaster is a drunk, and I’ve begun proceedings against him.’

  Lord George sighed. ‘There’s never a good moment to be deficient of a paymaster, but now of all times . . .’ He paused to look into each stall as they made their way to the other end.

  ‘Indeed not, but I’ve put one of the lieutenants to do duty meanwhile – Hirsch.’

  Lord George frowned. ‘Hirsch? A very Jewey name.’

  ‘Yes. His father is one of Rothschild’s men. A deuced handy officer is young Hirsch, and uncommonly good on the flute.’

  ‘Well, there would have been scant specie in Flanders had it not been for Rothschild’s arrangements, that is certain, though doubtless he made a good rate on it. Let us pray that Mr Hirsch has his tribe’s facility with money.’ He stopped to study one of the troopers, a dun mare. ‘She looks a very good sort. My compliments to you and Lankester, though we wouldn’t have bought her twelve months ago, not that colour.’

  Edmonds tilted his head. ‘I confess I gave the colour not a deal of thought, Colonel.’

  Lord George smiled ruefully. ‘I fear there are many who still would, Edmonds. I don’t believe the scale of the enterprise is as yet understood by one half of the army.’

  To Edmonds, who had thought of nothing but the calamity of Corunna, and its aftermath, the notion was astonishing. ‘Even going as we have, it will be six months before we can call ourselves ready.’

  ‘We don’t have that long,’ said Lord George, emphatically.

  Edmonds said nothing. It would take as long as it took; and so far, six months was the best that anyone could imagine.

  Lord George stood contemplating the dun mare a while before resuming the inspection. ‘What of the adjutant?’ he asked, giving the busy tail in the next stall a wide berth.

  ‘Tipping? In the daily administration of the regiment he is not at all bad, though I think he is deficient in true zeal. If we are to take to the field again I believe you might find him wanting.’

  Lord George held up a hand. ‘I am by no means dismayed by that. I intend bringing a man from the Royals as soon as may be.’

  Edmonds nodded. ‘Tipping may be glad to sell out. I presume he may exchange with your man?’

  ‘That might be arranged, yes. I would not hear of any turn-out, mind, but I should be obliged to have my own man.’

  ‘Of course, Colonel.’ Edmonds knew he would do the same. It was fortunate they did not have to shift a crack man.

  The duty dragoon came out of the feed room, saw Edmonds, and the stranger, and drew his arms to his side. ‘Morning, Cap’n Edmonds, sir.’

  ‘Good morning, Johnson. All sound after exercise?’

  ‘One o’m’s got t’gripes – dry soort.’

  Lord George looked puzzled. ‘What was that, Edmonds?’ he whispered as best he could.

  ‘One of the horses has dry colic, Colonel. This is Johnson, who was in my troop until last year. He comes from the infernal regions.’

  ‘Indeed?’

  Johnson advanced, halted after a fashion, and stood awkwardly, feet together but the rest of the body at ease. His uniform was patched even more than Crampton’s and Hardy’s, and he was wearing a short smock.

  Lord George was clearly intrigued. ‘What
has been the treatment, Johnson?’

  Before Johnson could answer, Edmonds thought to avoid any misunderstanding; he knew his man only too well. ‘Johnson, your commanding officer.’

  Johnson shifted his weight slightly, which passed as a bracingup. ‘Mr Knight gev ’im a clyster, Colonel, an’ stuck ’is ’and up ’er an’ pulled out all t’mard ’e could. Like rock, it were.’

  Lord George nodded, confident he had understood the import, if not every word. ‘Very well. And you, Private Johnson: what were you able to come away with from Corunna?’

  ‘Nowt at all, Colonel.’ Johnson sounded surprised. ‘We ’ad a few things we’d found on t’way – a bit o’ silver an’ that – but t’infantry’d got all t’best.’

  Edmonds sighed. ‘Johnson, I believe the colonel meant what of your own equipment.’

  ‘Oh, nowt, Colonel. Just me sword an’ carbine, an’ what ah stood up in.’

  ‘And have you received any money?’

  ‘I’ve ’ad all me pay, Colonel. An’ ten pounds for us lost things – me razor an’ that. But they ’aven’t taken for me diffies yet.’

  Lord George looked at Edmonds, who turned to Johnson again.

  ‘Johnson, I cannot believe you have not been told at least five times: there will be no stoppages for deficiencies arising from the exigencies of Corunna.’

  ‘No, ah knows that, sir. But t’quartermaster says ’e’s not just gooin to write-off ev’rythin’.’

  Lord George Irvine, impressed by this evidence of zealous interior economy, was nevertheless puzzled by the method. How were the quartermasters going to determine what were legitimate field losses and what were not? ‘How so, Johnson?’

  ‘We ’ad a full kit check just before we went t’harbour, Colonel.’

  ‘Ah, I see.’

  ‘What did you lose between then and here?’ asked Edmonds, as intrigued now as was the commanding officer.

  ‘Me spurs, sir.’

  ‘Careless, that.’

  ‘Ah bloody well threw ’em away, sir; after we’d shot all t’orses!’

  Edmonds wished he’d never asked. He’d felt like doing the same after shooting his own.