An Act Of Courage

‘I have no doubt he was about to assault one or other of us. His whole demeanour spoke of it, then and before.’

‘Your fellow cornets will not thank you, Mr Hervey,’ said Barrow, shaking his head with a distinct look of disappointment.

Hervey was puzzled. ‘What do you mean, sir?’

‘I mean that one way or another Mr Daly would have been in such trouble as to lead to his employment elsewhere. That is what you have been plotting, is it not?’

‘Sir, that is—’

‘Have a care, Mr Hervey. I may not share your learning, but it is my business to know what goes on in this regiment, and I do not neglect it.’

‘No, sir, of course.’

There was silence. A huge horsefly settled on Barrow’s neck. Hervey strained to warn him, but stood at attention instead, waiting leave to speak. After what seemed an age, the horsefly left in search of other flesh. Hervey wondered why it had not stung – or how Barrow had not felt it if it had. For weeks they had been plagued by them. Was the adjutant’s skin literally as thick as the cornets supposed?

Barrow sighed again. ‘Mr Hervey, the veterinary surgeon has already been to see me. He wants Mr Daly to be charged for mistreating his horse. The serjeant-major believes he should be chastised for abusing Serjeant Treve in front of the picket, too. And no doubt you will expect charges regarding his menacing and assault.’

‘No, sir. Daly was drunk.’

‘I thought officers got intoxicated, Mr Hervey?’

Hervey considered himself in too precarious a position to rise to the bait. ‘No doubt Mr Laming would prefer the word, sir.’

‘Ah yes, Mr Laming and his Greek. Very useful skill in an officer.’

‘Except the word is Latin, sir.’

‘Don’t quibble, Mr Hervey.’

‘I’m sorry, sir. I meant no disrespect.’

‘I don’t doubt it, otherwise I would have had your sword this instant.’

Hervey braced up again. He was not at all on firm ground, much less than he had imagined.

‘Well now, for the time being there is no need to render this in writing, not until I have spoken to Mr Daly and then the lieutenant-colonel. You had better speak to Captain Lankester meanwhile. Is there anything else?’

‘No, sir.’

‘Very well, dismiss.’

Hervey replaced his forage cap, saluted, turned to his right and marched from under the shade of the olive tree, which was the adjutant’s orderly room. He had had nothing but broth to eat in thirty-six hours, but that was not the reason he felt sick.

* * *

When he reported to Sir Edward Lankester, Hervey found that his troop-leader was already aware of the turn-out (indeed, the entire regiment appeared to be, according to Private Sykes).

Sir Edward looked pained. To the dismay of not being able to feed his troop – horses or men – was now added the distaste of one of his officers fighting with another. ‘I know that it was not brawling, Hervey, but that is what the canteen will be saying. It does not do to have officers appearing at odds with each other. There are badmashes who would take advantage, if I may borrow a word from our Indian friends. It’s not so very long ago that I recall speaking with you of advancement, and here we are now contemplating the very opposite!’

Hervey shook his head. He was a cornet of but a year – less; Sir Edward Lankester was a captain of much experience. But Corunna had steeled him in considerable measure. ‘Truly I do not see what else might have been, Sir Edward, except to be knocked down by him. If I had merely stood in his way there would have been a struggle of some kind, just as repugnant, for he was much taken by drink. And I have at least spared him the charge of striking a subordinate, which I had every belief he might do.’

Sir Edward held up a hand. ‘I don’t doubt any of it. But are you able to say that your action was in no degree animated by the anger at seeing the horse?’

‘No, I cannot, Sir Edward. But I do believe that it made not the slightest difference to the outcome. Daly was drunk and attempted an assault. I defended myself.’

‘A little prematurely, some might say.’

‘They would not if they had been there, Sir Edward.’ He paused. ‘And there were witnesses.’

Sir Edward nodded, thoughtfully. ‘Ah yes, witnesses. The orderly quartermaster and the picket. How do you suppose that would serve – a serjeant and dragoons giving evidence against an officer?’

Hervey said nothing. It was a loathsome prospect. But he had imagined Daly would be facing two charges: causing unlawful injury – even death – to an animal in the King’s service, and drunkenness (the latter offence obviating any graver charge of assault, threatened or otherwise). Why, therefore, was his troop-leader speaking of witnesses? ‘Sir, I am revolted by the notion, but I believe I acted honourably as picket-officer. I trust that Mr Daly will do likewise now.’

Sir Edward sighed. ‘There is the rub, Hervey. Warde has told me already that Daly intends bringing charges against you.’

Hervey felt sick again.

‘But be assured, I don’t doubt you for an instant. I shall go with Warde to the colonel to see if this may be resolved directly. For the meantime, I trust you will not speak of it. The very best thing will be to remain active: take a patrol north to see if there’s anything to be bought by way of rations. Return by midday. Take Serjeant Strange with you.’

‘Yes, Sir Edward.’

Hervey took his leave, feeling better for the expression of trust, except that by specifying Serjeant Strange, Sir Edward spoke of some doubt still. Strange was the steadiest NCO in the troop, probably in the regiment.

An hour later, in the shade of the same olive tree, the adjutant announced A and H Troop leaders to the commanding officer: ‘Captain Lankester and Captain Warde, Colonel.’

Lord George Irvine looked up from his camp-chair. ‘I can offer you no hospitality, gentlemen, but take your ease, if you will.’ The first of the mules had come up with the regiment’s baggage, so there were at least chairs for them to take, if nothing else. ‘I compliment you both on your stables again. I thought the horses in extraordinarily good condition at muster, all things considered.’ He smiled. ‘Even John Knight says so.’

‘Thank you, Colonel,’ they replied.

Lord George shook his head, and looked grave again. ‘Wellesley’s going to have to fill some bellies, though, if he intends a general action. I’m assured there’s bread and beef on its way to us, and, by God, not before time; but there’s nothing of corn yet.’

‘It could be worse, Colonel. There’s plenty of couch grass, at least,’ said Warde, holding up a cigar.

Lord George nodded, and again at the cigar.

Warde lit it – a quarter of a fine Havana, which was all that remained of his supply after two months marching in what they had begun calling the Wilderness. ‘I wonder if we might boil up these olives the Good Lord has provided. There are trees for miles, say the guides.’

Lord George looked encouraged. ‘I think it a very serviceable suggestion.’ He turned to the adjutant. ‘Have someone ask John Knight if there be any objection to that.’

The adjutant went to find an orderly.

‘Now, this wretched Daly affair,’ continued Lord George, briskly. ‘What’s to do?’

Captain Warde spoke first. ‘Well, Colonel, I questioned him after stand-down this morning. Beale-Browne had already alerted me to the business. Daly says that John Knight would not oblige him in the proper treatment of his charger – which he very imperiously, though correctly, asserts is his own property – so he was obliged to treat the animal himself. He apparently took a brand iron from the farrier, got his servants to assist him and performed the cauter with his own hand.’

Lord George nodded. ‘John Knight has explained the procedure to me. Evidently the iron must have been red