A Regimental Affair

‘And your opinion, Dan?’

The old soldier sighed. ‘Can’t be too careful with your flats and sharps, Matthew,’ he said, shaking his head from side to side.

‘So you have always said, Dan,’ replied Hervey, curious as to what was implied. ‘That’s why I brought the carbine to you. What’s your worry?’

‘For a start, it’s a mite too tangled for a private man.’

‘You mean he might not master the mechanism?’ said Hervey, with a touch of disbelief.

‘No, not that. Any as can be taught to strip and assemble a bridle ought to be able to cope with this. The problem, as I see it, is that the mechanism jams. Just like the first ones I saw years ago. A bit of dirt and the chamber won’t turn. And where there’s a field day and a dragoon, there’s dirt!’

Hervey was disappointed. And, though he concealed it, even a shade exasperated. ‘But Dan, where there’s a field day there’s damp too — nine times out of ten. I’ve told you before that I’ve seen a whole troop’s carbines misfire after a deep fording. And heaven knows you’ve seen it yourself. That was why I prized your percussion-lock so highly.’

Coates nodded. ‘Just so, Matthew. And if this mechanism weren’t a flintlock I should embrace it gladly. But here you have the chance that it will misfire and jam.’

Perhaps his shoulder was hurting more than he pretended. Perhaps he was not attentive enough. But Hervey just could not see the logic. ‘But Dan, if it misfires with the first round, you’re no worse off than if it had been the Paget in your hands. And if it jams on the second, then what have you lost?’

‘Looked at that way, it’s a fair bet, I grant you. But it seems to me you’re doubling a man’s doubt in his firearm.’

Hervey was dismayed. Coates was sounding opposed to what was better because it was not as good as it might be. Indeed, he was sounding not unlike the very Luddites he so railed against, fearful of some notion because it was new. Had he aged so much in the past year and a half? It was a loathsome thought, he knew, but Hervey began to wonder if Daniel Coates were not on that cusp where a man turns from being an old soldier to an invalid, from a sage whose wisdom protects to a reactionary whose fear only stifles. He rubbed his shoulder hard, praying for patience. ‘You would not wish to persuade me against it, though, would you, Dan?’

‘No, I wouldn’t wish to persuade you against it. But I would counsel you to choose the percussion carbine any day.’

It seemed to amount to the same. ‘And so you do not think I should recommend it to the Ordnance?’

Coates shook his head. ‘I should be very circumspect were I you, Matthew. Urge them to trials, certainly — but no more. Except perhaps to allude to Forsyth’s percussion caps, and say that the two in combination might make a formidable weapon. Though you cannot say anything of the caps to your American, of course.’

‘No, of course.’ It wasn’t necessary for Coates to remind him of that, but he could hardly blame him for being prudent.

They had a second glass of purl, then Hervey made his apologies and said he must be leaving: he could still get to Horningsham before last light, and the gelding was too green to be passing carts and cattle on a dark road. He realized it sounded rather lame, and hoped it didn’t give offence. He might have stayed for some supper, but he was no longer in the best of sorts, what with the fall and the wary counsel.

Coates was obliging. He called for his man to fetch the grey.

As Hervey climbed into the saddle (he used the mounting block — better not to give the youngster any more surprises), he began to rue his impatience. How short his memory had been for all he owed. ‘Thank you, Dan,’ he said, with a smile that revealed his contrition. He held out his hand. ‘I’ll be sure to write in very measured terms of that flintlock. For certain it would never have done for me at Waterloo — not in that sea of mud.’ He knew he ought never to forget it.

Coates smiled back, a smile of paternal pride, albeit adoptive, and he clapped him on the leg. ‘And one more piece of advice, Matthew…’

Hervey waited.

‘Three more days to yon wedding. Don’t go putting any more green horses at oxers!’

When he returned to Horningsham that evening, Hervey was much relieved to hear from Elizabeth that the archdeacon’s visitation, which his ride on the plain was in large part designed to avoid, had gone more than tolerably well. The bishop’s caution to the Reverend Mr Hervey the previous month had required him to submit to an inquisition, as Mr Hervey put it, at the end of thirty days. And those thirty days had passed heavily, for Mr Hervey had not shown any great inclination to abandon the practices which the bishop apparently found so odious. When Hervey had left the vicarage that morning, therefore, it had been in the expectation of hearing on return that there would be proceedings of one sort or another against his father: a summons before the consistory at least, or even, perhaps, suspension of his licence. Hervey had pleaded with his father to let him stay. He could not be of any help beyond the filial, but that was some comfort to a father was it not? But Mr Hervey had insisted that this was a matter that he himself must bear.

It appeared, however, that the meeting had been one of respectful listening and then accommodations, said Elizabeth. She had been there throughout, much to her surprise as well as the family’s, for Mr and Mrs Hervey had imagined that the archdeacon would wish his visitation to be entirely private (Mrs Hervey’s loathing of the archdeacon had disposed her to believe that he would not welcome witnesses). At the last minute, Mr Hervey’s spirits had faltered somewhat, and therefore Elizabeth had found herself the supporter.

‘And so what was agreed on?’ asked Hervey, as Elizabeth stood watching him rub down the gelding.

‘Well, Father was truly Christian — or, at least, he was very clever. He was at the greatest pains to explain each and every little thing to which the archdeacon had found objection. And he did so with such a humility that the archdeacon, who was disposed at first to be a little stiff, was quite warmed to Father by the end. And he stayed to luncheon.’

‘Did he indeed? Who would have thought it! So all along there has been much smoke and little fire?’

Elizabeth furrowed her brow. ‘I don’t think we can say that. Did Father ever show you the letter of complaint? It was a long list, and it was written in attorneys’ language.’

‘No, he didn’t show me,’ Hervey replied, emptying a quarter of a bucketful of crushed barley into the stable manger. ‘But Mr Keble told me that if the complaints were upheld, then any diocesan would be obliged to act. There’s no doubt that Father might have been unbeneficed had the archdeacon still found fault today. As Mr Keble pointed out — as you did, indeed — Father does not own the freehold.’ He pulled the bar across the stall gate and took up his coat.

Elizabeth noticed the streaks of dried mud across the shoulders. ‘Matthew, you haven’t taken a tumble have you?’ There was a smile on her lips.

‘Yes,’ he frowned.

‘Oh dear. He isn’t going to do, then?’

Hervey was of a mind not to reply, but thought better of it. ‘He’ll do very well.’ He smiled and shook his head. ‘It was I who didn’t do! He took off half a stride before I was ready and—’

‘Did anyone see? Are we to read of it in the Warminster Miscellany? “Captain Hervey, lately returned from—” ’

‘Enough!’ her brother protested, taking her arm and closing the bottom half of the stable door behind them. ‘Nobody saw. Daniel Coates brought him back soon afterwards and we had a laugh about it.’

‘I can imagine Daniel’s laughing. Did he say more?’

‘About what?’

‘About your gun. That is what you said you were to see him about.’

‘Oh… we had a good talk.’

They walked to the front of the house as the first pipistrelles were beginning their nightly acrobatics, which, now spring was truly come, would soon be rivalled during the day by the house martins which returned every year to the vicarage. Hervey followed the swoops and turns for a while, as if they might help his thoughts.

‘Elizabeth,’ he began, after an interval, ‘do you think Dan is become old? I mean… I know he’s not getting any younger, but today he seemed… well, a little less… reasonable.’

Elizabeth furrowed her brow again, and shook her head. ‘No, I have not thought that — and not a week goes by that I don’t see him in the town. And Lord Bath was saying only the other day that he was the best magistrate in