A Close Run Thing

‘You do not have a cavalry stud in England, I understand?’ continued the ADC, offering his flask again.

‘No, we buy from dealers. There never seems a want of good horses.’

‘Ja, I admire much your zoroughbred. Ve are using some zoroughbreds now at Trakhenen Stud, I am hearing. To give more speed. But your horse is not a zoroughbred, I zink?’

‘No,’ replied Hervey with a wry smile, facing the hopeless task of explaining Jessye’s breeding. ‘Her sire was a thoroughbred, but her dam was a Welsh Cob, an old breed from —’

But the ADC needed no priming. ‘Ze Velsh Cob I am admiring very much!’ he said in delight. ‘Ze hardy native pony und ze Andalusians make zis cob four or five hundred years ago, I zink. Ze ambassador in Berlin has von of zese ponies for his son, und it is — how do you say? — ze handiest little horse in ze Grunewald.’

‘And I fancy that mine, too, is the handiest in this forest!’ laughed Hervey.

When at last they began back for Mont St-Jean it took them all of two hours through the mud, and the press of men, horses and waggons, to reach the edge of the forest. Yet in that time he became confident at last that the Prussians would assail the French, as they had promised, with all vigour and dispatch. It only remained to see how soon this would be.

But searching for Strange was not possible, for as they emerged from the tree-line they saw more French cavalry, forcing them on a wide detour. ‘Herr General,’ began Hervey as they reached Vivian’s flank pickets, ‘may I ask you the favour of reporting to Lord Uxbridge that I have done what he commanded: I believe my duty now is to rejoin my regiment.’

‘Of course, Mr Hervey; you have done your duty admirably. And I must apologize again that my hussars mistook you for a Frenchman,’ he smiled. ‘Do not concern yourself about Prince Blucher. He is above seventy, you know, but still he is a tenacious soldier, ein treuer Husar as we say. He will never give up!’

Hervey had half-expected to find the Sixth gone from above La Haye. Instead he found Vivian’s same pickets on the flank; but although the regiment had dressed a little towards the centre, as the brigades had tried to close the gaps, they held the same ground as four hours before. ‘Has, please God, Serjeant Strange ridden in, sir?’ he asked, hoping against hope that he had somehow made his escape.

‘I fear not,’ replied Lankester, holding out a flask. ‘You had better take a draw on this brandy and tell me all that has passed.’

When Hervey’s account was ended the captain turned to Adjutant Barrow who, though Hervey had not observed it, had been active once more with his pocket-book. ‘Is there anything more for the record, Barrow?’ asked Lankester.

‘No, sir,’ he replied, ‘except that, if I might be allowed to say so, this seems uncommon service. I am sorry for Serjeant Strange; but Mr Hervey should not, in my judgement, let it rest upon his consciousness, for it was noble necessity.’

Hervey might have resented so cold a dismissal of Strange, but he recognized the adjutant’s purpose well enough. And Lankester voiced the same: ‘Indeed so, Barrow, and very aptly put,’ he nodded. ‘Well done, Hervey. You cannot grieve, for there has been no deficiency in your conduct. And now, if you please, I desire that you resume command of your squadron, for there will soon be hot work to be about.’

Hervey was grateful enough for their solicitude, yet it did little to reassure him as he rode over to his squadron. Cornet Seton Canning greeted him with evident relief as he resumed his place at the head of First, for Canning had joined the regiment just before they had left Cork, and after only the first field day he had grasped for himself the extent of his inexperience. Command of a squadron had sat uneasily with him for the past few hours.

Armstrong’s relief stemmed from a different impulse, however, for he counted his lieutenant more than a mere squadron leader. ‘Thank Christ, Mr ‘Ervey,’ he exclaimed. ‘This is worse than Salamanca!’

‘Tell me of it, Serjeant Armstrong! For I do not wish to dwell any more on my past hours. Serjeant Strange is dead — I am certain — and I had to leave him in the field.’

Armstrong paused, but (and Heaven knew how much he wanted to know of the circumstances) he held his peace, and began instead to rail against their own inactivity. ‘Not fewer than twelve Frog charges in a row!’ he thundered, recalling with startling imagery the attacks on the centre by the masses of cuirassiers and lancires. ‘They ’ave tried to break them squares all afternoon. Every time they came on they’ve been seen off by the guns or Lord Uxbridge’s men in the middle. The ’ussars on the other flank ’ave been all over the place — and yet we ’ave sat ’ere idle as a monk’s prick. One paltry gallop in the whole day!’

‘The duke’s express orders, Serjeant Armstrong,’ Hervey sympathized. ‘We are rooted to this flank until relieved by the Prussians.’

Armstrong shook his head in despair. ‘And what good might that do? Look yonder,’ he spat, pointing to La Haye Sainte. ‘There! The French ’ave taken it at last! What’s the sense of us sitting here, then, with the centre about to give way?’

Half a league hence the Duke of Wellington turned to the Earl of Uxbridge and said calmly: ‘Night or the Prussians must come!’

CHAPTER SIXTEEN. NIGHT OR THE PRUSSIANS

Overlooking Papelotte and La Haye, Evening

Hervey took out his watch. The smallest of shell splinters was embedded in its face, neatly piercing the letters d’A. J. on the cover and arresting the hands.

‘Aren’t you the lucky one, Mr ’Ervey,’ said Armstrong. ‘That would’ve made the eyes water!’

How was Jessope? he wondered as he examined the watch, puzzling whether the mechanism was still intact. How he envied him his situation, in the thick of the fighting, with Lord Fitzroy and the duke.

‘Half after six,’ said Armstrong, looking at the watch he had found at Vitoria. ‘Where are them Prussians, then?’

Hervey had no answer. Then Brigade-Major Harris came galloping along the line, the tails of his red staff- coat flying like an express boy’s.

‘Hallo, somethin’s up!’ said Armstrong hopefully.

Hervey agreed, and rode up to Lankester in anticipation.

‘The flank pickets report that Prussian hussars are approaching. Both brigades are to move to the centre as soon as relieved,’ said Harris.

Lankester merely looked at Hervey for an acknowledgement, confident that there was no need of elaboration. Hervey nodded, saluted and trotted back to his squadron, his broad smile at once conveying the intention through the ranks.

‘Are we to ’ave at ’em at last, Mr ’Ervey?’ someone called.

‘Yes, boys, now’s our time!’

Later he would ponder on that familiarity. It was what Edmonds, for sure, would have said, and Lankester, too — although the captain would more likely have said ‘my boys’. But Hervey had done so unaffectedly, and the squadron accepted it — as an unbroken horse at last accepts the bit.

Ten minutes later, with the first green jackets of the death’s-head hussars coming on to the ridge, Vivian’s brigade began its move. Lord Uxbridge rode up. ‘Well done, Vivian,’ he began. ‘You have anticipated the duke’s intentions precisely. A gap is opening in the centre, and some of the foreigners are beginning to waver. I may tell you, it is damned hot work there!’ Hervey’s mare squealed suddenly as his trumpeter’s grey fly-kicked and threw his rider, causing Uxbridge to turn. ‘Mr Hervey!’ he exclaimed, ‘we must speak of certain matters when there is