A Close Run Thing

the thick of the action, come whatever. And did you hear what those infernal Greys were saying — that we were riding to the flank like ladies withdrawing after dinner!’

But then a voice called him back from his thoughts — ‘Hervey! Hervey!’

The sight of Lieutenant Hugo Styles, with a detail of the 2nd Life Guards, was almost too much, and he would have turned Nero away but that Styles suddenly spurred towards him like a man demented, grabbing his arm after almost colliding with him. ‘Hervey, my dear, dear fellow, is this to be a real battle?’

Hervey’s jaw fell. ‘I think that is the general idea,’ he replied in his astonishment. He had not meant to sound scornful, but Styles in any event seemed in no condition to detect scorn, intended or not.

‘Hervey, I am given command of a troop; I cannot do it!’

Hervey’s first instinct was to express himself not in the least surprised that Styles did not count himself able — that he was a pompous, self-important ass, that he was about to get his comeuppance and that it was no good whining now, having looked down his nose for so long. But, for all his desire finally to cut him down to size, Hervey hesitated (for what of the wretched troopers of the Life Guards, who were equally new to the battlefield and in need of steadying?). Instead he de-loped: ‘Of course you can do it, Styles. You are an experienced officer, and your men will follow you,’ he said staunchly, hoping he might sound convincing.

‘But that is it, you see,’ Styles returned quickly. ‘I cannot recollect myself; I do not know what I am about!’

Hervey suppressed another urge to speak sharply, to demand that Styles stop snivelling and take a hold of himself. Instead he continued with his quiet reassurance. ‘Styles my dear fellow, that is how we all feel,’ he lied. ‘You will do your duty well enough; you will be capable, I tell you.’

‘Is that really so, Hervey? You, too, have doubts? Thank you, thank you.’ His eyes were now wild with alarm. ‘Let us dine together at Westbury when this is over. I shall tell Henrietta Lindsay of your composure!’

‘Yes, indeed, we shall dine together.’ Hervey knew it to be unlikely, and he cursed him in his heart for bringing Henrietta to mind. Styles would forget this exchange soon enough, he warranted. He was glad of the excuse to rejoin his troop when the squadron trumpeter sounded the trot.

The repeating ‘C’s of that call never failed to thrill. They spelled action. They signalled an urgency to close with the enemy, or to put some distance between them. And the snorting of the troop horses, who knew the call as well as their riders, and the jingling of bits added to the exhilaration. But this morning Hervey found no thrill. The flank was, by the rubrics of the drill-book, the appointed place for light cavalry, and he himself had recognized the wisdom of doubling to two brigades on this occasion, but he knew nevertheless that they were leaving the seat of action far behind, for Bonaparte would not attempt anything on their flank with the Prussians so close. Even the duke’s dispositions seemed to confirm it, for as they trotted along the road atop the ridge, bordered in places by thick, high hedges, or sunken by as much as a man’s height, he saw less and less of the familiar and reassuring red and more of the blue coats and orange facings of the allies: Wellington would not have so disposed his weakest forces had he expected them to face any determined action. Hervey’s heart sank further, yet he saw that the Dutch-Belgics were setting about the position with a will, cutting gaps in the hedges so that cavalry could pass through, digging out embrasures for the guns and making loopholes for the riflemen. They even cheered heartily as the Sixth rode by.

After three-quarters of a mile they reached their appointed place, opposite the hamlets of Papelotte and La Haye a few hundred yards across the valley to their right, and they executed a smart evolution from column into line, coming to a halt on the forward slope with the warm sun on their faces, Hervey’s troop in the second line forming the support to ‘B’. Lankester at once called him forward. ‘How do you suppose this conforms with the duke’s intentions?’ he asked.

The senior captain — and also, thereby, Edmonds’s second-in-command — was remarkably free from pride to enquire thus of his junior, thought Hervey. ‘I think it very exactly as the duke intended, sir,’ he replied. ‘See, in that scattering of farms below us — mark the roofs yonder — he intends disposing his Nassauers. They may be there this minute. And if you stand in the stirrups you can just see La Haye Sainte below the crossroads close where we bivouacked last night. That, he has garrisoned with some of the German Legion and the Rifles. We cannot see the chateau at Hougoumont, for it is perhaps a mile beyond the farm at La Haye Sainte. Here, see, I have a sketch of the position. The duke said that he intended to place four companies at least of the Guards there. And he will need to, for it will by now be nearer the French lines than our own.’

Lankester studied the sketch-map intently. ‘And there is nothing to our east but the Forest of Ohain?’

‘No,’ replied Hervey warily. ‘A couple of leagues or so beyond the forest will be the Prussians — on this side of the Dyle river, we must hope, for I believe the duke will want for a junction with them ere too long.’

It was still not eight o’clock, but everywhere steam was beginning to rise — from the ground, the horses, the saddlery; from the men themselves, and from the roofs of the dwellings in the hamlets hastily abandoned by their occupants and now garrisoned by the Duke of Saxe-Weimar’s Nassauers. Only a year or so ago these men had fought for Bonaparte, but Wellington must surely be confident of their steadfastness to trust them to such a position — even on this flank?

‘Would that I were able to find such faith,’ replied Lankester sceptically, and Hervey nodded as, with growing despair, he surveyed the sodden ground, a gun team nearby struggling fetlock-deep in mud to drag a nine-pounder along a rutted farmtrack.

Major-General Sir Hussey Vivian rode along the front of his brigade, calm, assured and exquisite in the hussar field dress of his old regiment, accompanied by his black trumpeter. That he ought, by regulation, to have been wearing general officer’s uniform mattered not to Vivian, who cared only, and jealously, for his hussar brigade. Even Lord Fitzroy Somerset, on the duke’s behalf, had chided him, as he had the other cavalry brigadiers, though to no avail, especially since Uxbridge himself insisted on wearing the dolman. But if Vivian was at all dismayed by the appending of the 6th Light Dragoons to the hussar brigade he had never once shown it: he had even placed them on the right of his line.

‘Good morning, General,’ said Lankester as the brigadier reached First Squadron, he and Hervey saluting together. ‘I think it may be another Toulouse for us, by all accounts.’

‘Ha!’ laughed Vivian, ‘you will recall that I was in a field hospital with a damned ball in my shoulder — along with Lord George. But I doubt you will be inactive here today. Bonaparte is in the field and he is sure to manoeuvre against us. In any event, I do not think that we shall long remain in this position: the Prussians are marching to us, and I fully expect them on this flank by noon. I do not suppose Lord Uxbridge will keep us idle thereafter.’

‘Let us hope not, General,’ Lankester replied, ‘but I am surprised the French have made no move yet. Not even their artillery has begun harassing fire.’

‘Sir George Wood believes it is too wet — their guns would have no ricochet fire, and since Wellington has placed most of his infantry on the reverse of the crest their shot would have limited effect. He believes, too, that they have few howitzers: we should not forget that Bonaparte is first an artilleryman, and will not join battle until he is sure of his guns! He must be deuced confident, though, to be awaiting the ground to dry out, what with the Prussians about to fall on his flank at any moment.’

‘We are sure of the Prussians, then, General?’

‘We had better be! I dined with Muffling some days ago, and he swore that Blucher had given his word. That ought to be enough!’

‘Well, I for one would be content with a Prussian’s word.’

‘Exactly so, Sir Edward. But to more pressing matters. Uxbridge has recalled Mercer’s troop to the centre — temporarily, I would hope. There is a Dutch foot-battery making its way hither in its stead — though with little enough haste, I’ll warrant. I do not suppose, however, that artillery will be a requisite for some while at least. But good luck to you, gentlemen; I must now have words with Sir John Vandeleur.’

Vivian gave them a cheery wave in response to their salutes as he spurred into a canter towards the adjacent brigade.

‘Well,’ sighed Lankester, ‘what think you of taking away Mercer’s guns?’

‘The duke will have an inferiority of them, it is sure, and will make up for it by wheeling them about. Sir George Wood says our horse batteries are the envy of all, the French included.’

‘That is as may be, Hervey, but what use is a foot-battery to us? It cannot support any manoeuvre. Perhaps that is why it is sent to us, to anchor us to the spot!’