had pressed his case admirably, believing him to have special merit, and it was looking as though Sir Horace had been right. It was not the portion of a GOC to be able to talk confidingly with many men — sadly — and Sir Francis Evans did not intend letting an opportunity pass. ‘Let me tell you something of the genesis of all this, Hervey, and then you might be set more favourably to do the King’s business. What do you know of the secret parliamentary committees — the January committees?’
Hervey was perplexed. If they were secret, how should he know anything of them? ‘I was not in England in January, sir, and I have not heard of them since.’
‘Too many have,’ tutted Sir Francis. ‘
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And that special legislation has been enacted to prevent the holding of what are deemed seditious meetings?’
‘I did not know that, sir.’
‘The committees found there to be overwhelming evidence of a traitorous conspiracy to overthrow the government — a general insurrection, indeed. And these two measures are the fruits of that inquiry. Bitter fruits they are, too.’
Hervey intended making the most of the intimacy. ‘Do the magistrates exercise the powers aptly, sir?’ His memory of the Cork magistracy was still painful.
‘Depends whether they’re Whig or Tory, or, for that matter, town or county. The Tory bench is a violent one on the whole — uncompromising… and damned irritating. But I will say they are bold. The Whigs on the other hand are a sneaking, base lot — always quick to call for troops, yet trucking with the mob. The county magistrates are a miserable set generally. They insult the people and grow frightened at every alarm. Those of the towns have a little more pluck, but the county ones bully them, inoculate them with their own fears, and then they pour in calls for troops. You’ll have no very great love of them. But remember this: when you have gone back to Brighton, they must remain here, and with no protection but the parish constable and the shutters on their windows.’
‘No, of course, sir.’ Hervey had never envied the magistrates. He was just dismayed at their want of understanding and, it might be said, often enough their cold-heartedness.
‘Well now, understand that my object in all this is to tranquillize the situation as much as possible. It has been my habit to meet with the magistrates weekly in the most troubled areas to impress on them, more than anything, that they must not interfere with the basic rights of the crowds to assemble, for not every such assembly is by any means seditious. If, of course, the orator is preaching arson, murder or treason then he must be arrested as soon as the crowd is dispersed. But galling though it may be, I am very much afraid that it is better to let him finish his tirade than try to get to arrest him by pushing through the crowd, for that way spells only misadventure.’
Hervey nodded. The affair of Skinner Street had been a salutary lesson.
‘I am myself, as a rule, chary of using cavalry, for they cannot do much other than bully a crowd — though I’d rather have a crowd chopped a little than destroyed with firearms. The trouble is, in a town they’re too easily assailed from above, and with impunity. Slates, coping stones — they’ll hurl anything. You shall have to drill your dragoons to dismount as infantry, Hervey, else they’ll be no use in some of these places. They’ll have to be able to get aloft.’
Hervey said that he understood.
‘Now, billeting. It’s the very devil of a business always. You must keep your troops together. These towns have big enough places of one sort or another. In one or two there are barracks, even, or else farms nearby.’
Hervey took careful note.
‘And the yeomanry: have a care. To my mind they’re overzealous for cutting and slashing. And they’re tired, too. They’ve been out the best part of the spring and summer. As for the militia, I pray God we never become so desperate as to have to call
‘I am from those parts, sir. I heard of it.’
‘Well and good, then. The last thing we need is a battalion of militia mutinying.’
Hervey made a note in his pocketbook to learn the whereabouts of the militia armouries.
The DAAG came in. ‘Excuse me, Sir Francis, but you have your call on the lord lieutenant at eleven- thirty.’
The GOC looked at his watch and made to leave. ‘Very well, Captain Hervey, you have my general intention. My staff will give you the details. Be so good as to inform your colonel of it when he resumes command, and ask him to call on me at the first opportunity.’ He held out his hand. ‘I have enjoyed making your acquaintance, sir. Good-day to you.’
Hervey took his hand before replacing his forage cap and saluting. The general’s company had been an uncommon stimulant.
It was agreed that the regiment would rest for the day and that night in Nottingham before dispersing to their appointed towns. B Troop would march thence to Newark, fifteen miles to the northeast, C to Mansfield, about the same distance to the north, D to Worksop, ten miles further on, E to Retford, some eight miles to the east of Worksop, and F would be the reserve at Ollerton, centrally placed between the others. A would remain in Nottingham, so that Hervey might have its command as well as the regiment’s for the day or so before he expected Lord Towcester to arrive. This was not an easy decision. Hervey had no qualms about continuing to stand duty for the lieutenant colonel, and, indeed, without his lordship’s intemperance the regiment was very much the happier, but it meant that he would then remain in his closest proximity, and that could only bring greater distress. But Hervey had also to hope for Lord Towcester’s early return, for Sir Francis Evans’s notorious temper would be sorely provoked by the prolonged absence of the Sixth’s commanding officer. He called a meeting of the troop leaders at three o’clock in the White Hart Hotel, where the officers would mess for the night, and then went to see how were his chargers.
Gilbert had been warranted a good doer by the Trowbridge coper, and so he had proved to be in the weeks at Hounslow and Brighton. All the same, Hervey was surprised by how well he looked: better than many a horse he’d seen after a day’s hard hunting. The big grey turned from the hay rack as Hervey came into the White Hart’s stables, and began to stale. The urine’s colour was no different from usual, and Hervey’s nose smarted at the pungent smell, the same sal ammoniac as his old governess’s reviving salts. He could leave the gelding to himself in that big stall, where, no doubt, he would be stretched out on the fine straw bed before the hour was out.
Harkaway, however, had lost condition. He stood tucked up, ignoring the hay — a sorry sight, indeed. Perhaps he had not had enough time to become fit again after being turned away for so long, although he had had slow, progressive work of late, and had seemed as fit as any trooper before the march. ‘What do you think, Johnson?’ asked Hervey.
Evidently Johnson had already been thinking. ‘I reckon we’d better physic ’im.’
Hervey sighed. He was probably right, and yet Selden, their former veterinarian, whose opinions were held in high regard still, had forsworn routine physicking as much as bleeding. ‘Leave him another hour or so, but keep a sharp eye out, and if he’s any worse get Mr Gascoyne to look at him, and call me.’
‘Right, sir. I’ll try and tempt ’im with a mash meantime.’
Hervey nodded, as Johnson put the blanket back on Harkaway. The gelding scarcely moved as he fastened the surcingle.
‘We can’t be very far from your parts now, can we?’ said Hervey, as Johnson ducked under the stall bar. ‘A day’s march?’
‘Ay, easy.’
‘Would you like leave to go there if things quieten down?’
Johnson shook his head. ‘I’ve no crave to go to Sheffield again, Cap’n ’Ervey. It’s a mucky place.’
‘You wouldn’t want to see anyone?’
‘Who? They were decent enough folk, them as ran t’work’ouse, but they’d be long gone. An’ I can’t very well walk t’streets all day on t’off chance o’ seein’ somebody.’
Hervey thought it better to let the matter rest.
At three o’clock the troop leaders assembled in the dining room of the White Hart. It was a room of some refinement, with a woven carpet and little oak, but the White Hart was undoubtedly a provincial hotel, only a
