himself on the green grass of East Cork, and Hervey had been hard-pressed in the last month to get him to bend even a little and bring his quarters under. The gelding had a good mouth, though, and a good turn of speed, and above all he was honest. Hervey thought he could have him right by the time they went to Brighton. Gilbert, the grey, would take longer, however, for he was foaled a full two years later. If he could just keep Harkaway between himself and the ground for the duration of the major general’s inspection, he would be well satisfied.
‘Good afternoon, sir,’ said Private Broadhurst, coming out of the spinney and saluting from the saddle of his little bay trooper. He spoke confidently, with a trace of a smile, evidently taken by the captain’s visiting his vidette.
‘Good afternoon, Broadhurst,’ said Hervey, returning the salute and encouraging him to make the smile definite. ‘An English summer’s day. What better thing could there be than a vidette!’
‘Ay, sir. There’s nowt better.’ And Broadhurst meant it. A more straightforward, uncomplicated dragoon had probably never drawn pay. His accent was that of Johnson’s county, but from a little further north, and not nearly so pronounced. Even so, the other dragoons had dubbed him ‘Johnson’s nip’ when he had first joined the troop.
‘Have you seen home since returning from France?’ Hervey swished the flies from Harkaway’s ears. He would need the citronella soon.
‘No, not yet, sir. I was hoping to have leave before the year’s out, though. After Brighton, that is. I’m keen to see Brighton.’
Hervey nodded. Harkaway was getting restless as the flies swarmed thicker. ‘Where is your coverman?’
Broadhurst smiled at the idea he should have a coverman. ‘Private Wick, sir? He’s a good’n, and only eighteen. He’s posted the other side of the spinney keeping watch on the road. Shall I lead you through?’
‘Yes, please. I want to know his orders.’
Private Wick heard them coming, but only turned to salute when they were beside him, so determined was he to have first sighting of the enemy. He had joined after Waterloo, and fretted that he had not yet seen action, especially of an evening in the wet canteen when the stories of that day were being retailed.
‘Good afternoon, Wick,’ said Hervey, smiling encouragingly at him. ‘Do you see anything at all?’
‘Nothing, sir. There’s not even a rabbit moved since I was posted.’
Hervey searched the ground with his telescope. It revealed nothing too. He handed it to Wick. ‘See if things look different.’
Private Wick had never looked through a telescope before. ‘No, sir; not different, just closer.’
Hervey liked that, and smiled to himself. Of course things only looked closer. But a telescope was worth more to a dragoon on outpost duty than a carbine — yet the Ordnance had none for the issuing. ‘Right then, Wick: tell me your orders.’
The young dragoon began without hesitating an instant. ‘I am to watch the road and all to my front between the white house on the distant far hill, sir,’ he pointed with his sword arm, ‘and the line of the stream to the right. And I am to tell Private Broadhurst as soon as I see anything at all.’
‘Anything?’
‘Ay,
He said it with very serious purpose. And he was right, for Broadhurst had known ruses like that in Spain. ‘And what then shall Private Broadhurst do on report of a sighting?’
‘He will signal to Corporal Sykes at the picket, sir.’
Hervey turned to Broadhurst. ‘Your signal code?’ He knew he hardly needed to ask.
‘Might Wick give it, sir?’
Hervey nodded.
‘Go on then, Wick,’ said Broadhurst with a smile.
‘I go to the back of the spinney, sir, where I can be seen by the corporal at the picket, and put my horse to walking in a circle. Clockwise if the enemy is a cavalry patrol, the other way if infantry. And I put ’im into a trot if there are a lot of ’em.’
‘Well done, Wick,’ said Hervey. ‘How shall you know if they are cavalry or infantry at the furthest distance?’
‘Because the dust rises higher from cavalry, sir. And for infantry it is lower and thicker.’
‘Good! And what if it is artillery and wagons?’
‘Then the dust isn’t even: it’s all over the place, sir.’
Hervey was pleased. ‘And how might you judge the distance to the enemy?’
‘At seven furlongs you can tell if the enemy is cavalry or infantry, sir. At three, sir, you can count ’eads. And between one and two you can see what uniform they is wearing.’
Hervey turned to Private Broadhurst. ‘You’ve drilled him well. And I think you’ll be the first to put the drills to the test, for this is the enemy’s main route of advance, by my reckoning.’
‘Will he go on through the night, do you think, sir?’
Hervey tilted his head. ‘We have to be ready for the possibility. You are clear as to the signals then?’
‘Ay, sir: unshaded red lantern for enemy approaching, carbine shot for alarm.’
‘And when do you make the alarm, Wick?’ said Hervey, turning back to the young dragoon.
‘If we’re surprised—’
‘Which we
‘Or if the red light isn’t repeated back to us by the picket,’ added Wick.
‘Just so, just so.’ There was nothing more for Hervey to test. He was sure that if the Duke of Wellington himself were to ride up he could not find fault with this vidette. He turned to leave, but then a notion came to him. ‘Are you a Shropshire man, by any chance, Wick?’ Perhaps it was the way he pronounced ‘light’, as C Troop’s serjeant-major did, and the town boys when Hervey had been at school.
‘Ay, sir,’ replied Wick, with a proud smile both at the fact and at its interest to his officer. ‘From Shrewsbury, sir. Have you been there, sir?’
What Hervey liked about the Sixth — one of the many things he liked — was the way the private men would speak up. He had once tried to coax the most innocent opinion from one of d’Arcey Jessope’s guardsmen, only to be met with incomprehending silence. And here was the youngest dragoon asking him a question. ‘I was at school there,’ he replied.
‘At Shrewsbury school, sir? The big school?’
Private Wick’s first syllable of Shrewsbury rhymed with ‘shoe’, and Hervey was tempted to make a little sport, for many a time he had got close to blows with the town boys over the matter. He thought better of it, though. ‘Yes,’ he said, simply.
Wick positively beamed. ‘My father kept the gate there, sir.’
‘Indeed, yes, I remember now. “Gaoler” Wick, as we called him.’
‘Yes, sir. I knew as that was ’is name among the gentlemen,’ replied the young dragoon, proudly.
Hervey shook his head. ‘Well, I may tell you, Private Wick, your father had a heart of gold. But you will know that already. Many was the time I thawed myself by his fire, and drank his tea.’
Wick was beaming with pride now.
‘Is he well still?’
A frown at once replaced the smile. ‘No, sir. He died two years ago.’
‘Oh, I am sorry,’ said Hervey. ‘Your mother is well provided for?’
‘Oh yes, sir. The school has given her rooms and everything. She does for one of the masters.’ The beam had returned.
Hervey was doubly pleased, for as well as making for a contented dragoon it was what he would have hoped from his old school. ‘Well, Wick, we can continue this at another time.’ He pushed his telescope into its saddle holster. ‘There are things pressing elsewhere, don’t you think, Broadhurst? How long would you suppose it was after us that the regiment left barracks?’
Private Broadhurst thought hard for a moment. ‘Well, sir, knowing ’ow things is at present, they wouldn’t ’ave left until everything were perfect… At least three hours, I’d say.’
Broadhurst didn’t miss much, either, thought Hervey. ‘In which case we should expect them within the hour, and then there’ll be two more of good daylight left. They could advance a fair distance before last light — well beyond the Bourne, indeed.’
