An Act Of Courage

Sir Edward nodded. ‘You are wise to be acquainted with that, Hervey. The fact is that Moore was incomparably the better soldier, but I believe Wellesley will prove much the greater commander-in-chief.’ He leaned back and began buffing a spur on his breeches. ‘This business here in the Peninsula: it is not so much the fighting a man must do – we may suppose there are generals enough who could do that tolerably well; recollect Hope at Corunna when Moore was shot – it is dealing with the politicos, and the allies. Wellesley will handle London right enough, and his brother will guard his back there, and he’s not fool enough to trust the allies – Spanish or Portuguese for that matter – so that he ends up hazarding things as Moore did. We’ll not see brilliance, as we did with Moore, but I believe we may trust to consummate skill in so far as strategy is concerned. That, and sure administration. It will just take so much longer with Wellesley, that is all.’

‘I do not believe I have been able to contemplate that, Sir Edward.’

‘Indeed not. Of course not. But you must contemplate the long point we’re beginning. It will be no bolting Reynard and running him fast to the kill. Believe me, Hervey, these French marshals will show us more foxery than you’d see in a dozen seasons in Leicestershire!’

Hervey thought he was beginning to grasp the import, but he was troubled. Did Sir Edward have concerns that one of his cornets – he – might not have the stomach (or the horse, so to speak) for the long point? ‘I did not think we would see England for a year, at least, Sir Edward.’

‘A year? Mm.’ It was not unreasonable of his cornet to speak of a year: His Majesty’s armies did not campaign abroad much longer, as a rule. But Sir Edward shook his head. ‘I will speak plainly. You have done well these past days, as I observed you did in Spain. It would not do if you weren’t to gain some . . . responsibility in this war. Both you and the service would be ill served. You are but eighteen: you may imagine that I do not have this interview with every cornet.’

Hervey, warmed as if he had just swallowed fine brandy, nodded. ‘Thank you, Sir Edward.’

‘No need to thank me, Hervey. I’m giving you nothing but counsel, and that is my duty. In any case, you may not like what follows. You must know that you can have no advancement in a cavalry regiment unless you are prepared for a very considerable outlay. In the infantry it would be different: there is much more free promotion.’

Hervey knew precisely what he meant. More officers were killed in the infantry.

‘And there is more opportunity for distinction there, and consequently for merit promotion.’

Again, Hervey perfectly understood. If one survived in the ranks of red, and stood in the right place, there was the chance that a senior officer might notice.

‘I consider that you should buy into the infantry, Hervey. You would have a company in no time. This war will last very much longer than a year – five years more, I’d wager. You might even have a major’s brevet at the end of it.’

Hervey felt his stomach tighten. Was his troop-leader saying that he was not cut out for the regiment? Was he trying to warn him off, kindly? But if he were, why now? Why not in England when the prospect of campaigning had been remote?

Sir Edward saw the dismay. ‘The fact is, Hervey, you will scarce have opportunity for distinction in the cavalry. Ours, in the end, is a business unobserved. Not the charge, but that is an infrequent sort of affair, believe me. You saw for yourself in Spain. And if you are bent on long service, as I perceive you are, then you shall have to seek your advantage wheresoever it may be.’

Hervey felt reassured: Sir Edward appeared genuinely solicitous. And he had come to trust that whatever appeared to be the case with Sir Edward was indeed the case. He did not like the advice, but he could not resent it. ‘Sir Edward, I thank you for your good opinion of me, but I have no thought other than to advance in the Sixth. I already feel it as a family.’

Private Bancroft came with the half-made coffee. Hervey now saw that its purpose was to sustain the interview rather than anything else.

Sir Edward took his cup, and a sip, then pulled a face and set the cup aside, sharing Bancroft’s opinion on lukewarm coffee now that its original purpose was passing. ‘That is as it should be, Hervey. As long as you’re content with its price, that’s all. And when you speak of family, have a care: let me remind you that to become too close to any man in our business is folly when you must send him to his death next day.’

Hervey marked very carefully what his troop-leader was saying, wondering if he displayed some tendency in this direction. He was not aware of any. Indeed, he had rather feared that the opposite had been true during the retreat to Corunna, for he had been zealous in his duty as he saw it (not least over the matter of Serjeant Ellis). ‘I shall endeavour always to maintain a proper distance, sir.’

‘Mm.’

There was a long pause. Hervey tried his coffee again, thinking to show appreciation.

‘What do you think of Armstrong?’

Hervey at once assumed that he must be guilty of the offence of which Sir Edward had just spoken. Nevertheless he would give his opinion plainly. ‘I think of him very well indeed, sir.’

‘Good. How long will it take before he is ready for serjeant?’

Hervey brightened; evidently he was not guilty in this regard. On the contrary: it appeared that Sir Edward valued his opinion, though he scarcely imagined his troop-leader had need of it. He contemplated the exemplars of serjeant’s rank in the regiment, quickly dismissing Ellis as wholly aberrant. Armstrong certainly looked the part – the authority that came with the indeterminate age of the non-commissioned officer, the voice that commanded attention, the way of moving, purposeful, confident; and that something extra, an understanding of what it was the officers were about, so that he stood not in opposition ever, while being entirely true to himself. Armstrong, for all his rough-hewn qualities, was ‘regimental’, as Daniel Coates called it, an attribute defying precise definition in a handy volume, if at all. Hervey was sure of it: ‘I venture to say, Sir Edward, that were he required to act in that rank today he would do so very creditably.’

‘You think him worthy of promotion over the heads of his seniors?’

That was a different question. It called for a judgement in more things than simple quality. ‘I have not the wherewithal to give a safe opinion on that, Sir Edward.’

‘Mm. Then you are indeed a shrewd officer. Well, I would have Armstrong given every chance to display himself. He has not the seniority to advance otherwise than by some act of distinction.’

Hervey made no reply.

Sir Edward began polishing the silvered spurs again, breathing on them then buffing on his overalls. After a while he stopped and looked at Hervey directly, as if he were turning over another matter of promotion. ‘I do not know how Wellesley fights,’ he said, with the air of a man who considered it right that he should know.

Again, Hervey was surprised more by the sharing of a confidence than by its substance. It was generally supposed that Sir Arthur Wellesley knew the business of fighting and would make his intentions clear enough. He remained respectfully silent.

‘Wellesley’s got up here quickly, no doubt of it. I’d feared we would delay on the Mondego a good many weeks. But by all accounts his opinion of cavalry is not great. He may yet favour the cautious way, whatever intelligence we are able to bring him.’

Sir Edward paused, as if to weigh again his surmise.

Hervey inclined his head, expecting some conclusion, some course of action which followed from the estimate.

Instead, Sir Edward leaned forward, pushed the spurs back into the heel-boxes, and stood up.

Hervey rose at once.

‘Have a mind of it then, Hervey!’ Sir Edward said it almost absently as he picked up his Tarleton and stepped briskly for the door.

CHAPTER EIGHT

THE CHANCE TO DISPLAY

Later