The firing continued, sporadic now but still determined. He knew there must be riflemen in the shadows, but no challenge came until they got to the bend in the river where the corporal had checked him the evening before. A lantern swinging side to side brought them to a halt.
‘Parole!’
‘Shorncliffe,’ replied Hervey, as quietly as he dare.
‘Advance, friend!’
‘Major Hervey, Sixth Light Dragoons.’ He saw a serjeant’s stripes. ‘My squadron will be up in a few minutes. Have you seen anything?’
‘Not a thing, sir.’
A scuffing on the road made the serjeant swing round. ‘Halt! Who goes there?’
There were plaintive voices: ‘Please, sir, just us.’
Two riflemen stepped from the bushes to take aim at the unknown shapes.
‘Who’s “us”?’ demanded the serjeant gruffly.
‘Sethy Wilks and Jack Cranch, sir. We was just doin a bit o’ rabbitin’ on the common … as we’ve rights to.’
‘Raise your hands above your head, and step forward!’
The two shuffled into the pool of light. Hervey waited to hear them.
‘Where’re you from?’ the serjeant barked, as if he were rousting recruits.
‘The town, sir. We both of us work in the mills.’
‘Have you seen anything?’
‘No, sir. We just ‘eard all the firin’ and thought as how we’d better leave everythin’.’
Hervey saw they were of no help to him, except by way of negative intelligence – and the realization that commoners’ rights might make the affair more hazardous than he had supposed. ‘I think you might detain them, Serjeant, until it’s all over.’
‘Ay, sir.’
He kicked on.
The firing quickened again as they came up to the company post. A sentry challenged them thirty yards short of the sluice.
Hervey gave the parole, dismounted and handed the reins to Johnson, then made his way to where he had last seen Number One Company commander.
The mill was still lit, and from the hatch-doorway at the top riflemen were firing – deliberate, careful aimed fire. He pushed open the door at the rear.
‘Major Hervey!’ The company commander was deftly reloading a pistol, but otherwise he looked as if he were at a drawing room.
‘Captain Hallam. You are attacked?’
‘If you could call it that. I was doing my rounds when half a dozen ruffians came along the road. The sentries told them to halt and the beggars opened fire at once. We’ve been returning fire since, but largely, I think, speculative. I estimate three dozen shots at us at least.’
‘Are they still keeping up the fire? The intruders, I mean.’
‘I’ve seen no muzzle flash for several minutes.’
Prudence suggested he wait a little longer, but Hervey was keen to follow up fast if the intruders had fled. ‘You don’t think it any sort of diversion – others slipping past while they fired on you?’
‘I’m certain there’s no one on the road or tow-path that came through us.’
‘Very well. We’ll go forward as soon as you order ceasefire.’ He turned to the RSM. ‘Mr Hairsine, bring them up, if you will.’
The RSM moved sharply.
‘And F Troop to light torches,’ Hervey called after him.
‘Sir!’
Hervey took out his map. ‘What do you make of it, Hallam? Why begin firing like that?’
Captain Hallam shook his head. ‘I’ve been thinking the same myself. It’s a deuced mazey thing. They even managed to shoot two of their own.’
Hervey’s ears pricked. ‘Indeed? Have you got them? Do they have any papers?’
‘Just pay books. The beggars reek of beer and whisky, though.’
‘No doubt. Dutch courage. Did they have firearms?’
‘No. And I meant they’re so soused I’m amazed they could stand.’
Hervey shook his head and began examining the map, intent on discovering what they might have overlooked.
But soon the squadron came jingling up, hooves thudding rather than clattering, the road no longer metalled, a green lane.
He folded his map quickly and made for the door. ‘Cease firing?’
Number One Company Commander nodded.
Outside, he began blinking to recover his night eyes, trying his best to look away from the torches – one to every three dragoons.
‘Here, sir!’ called Johnson, standing fast where Hervey had dismounted.
He couldn’t complain, but six months ago Johnson would have brought Gilbert up as soon as he heard the firing slacken. He wondered how long it would be before he recovered that assurance – if at all. ‘Have you the torch?’
‘Sir. Do you want me to light it, sir?’
Hervey blinked again, this time at the alien formality. ‘No, not yet,’ he said, taking the reins and remounting. ‘Captain Worsley!’
‘Here, Hervey.’
The voice was closer than he’d expected. He wished the lanterns in the mill had not been so bright; his night eyes were quite gone. ‘There may be two dozen of them. They’ve firearms; how many, I don’t know. They had a bit of a skirmish with the picket, but it looks as though they’ve fallen back. Send an officer and thirty along the sluice, the other side of it, for about three hundred yards until it bends like a hairpin, and then picket the hundred yards or so between there and the bridge on the canal to make sure they can’t get any further south – or get back north, for that matter. See to it as well that the lock north of the hairpin’s picketed. And keep torches well lit so we all know who’s where.’
F Troop Leader turned in the saddle. ‘Mr Thoyts!’
Hervey waited until Worsley had given his orders, then told him his own intention. ‘You’ll recall the map: from here on the Lea and the canal converge for about half a mile, and then there’s a fifty-yard cut which practically joins them, albeit a narrow one. There’s no bridge over the Lea, so if Thoyts stands on the canal they can’t get across there either. We may just have them in the neck of a bottle. We’ll ride straight for the cut now and then beat back towards Thoyts if there’s no sign of them. Torches rear for the time being. Let’s use the moon while we can.’
Captain Worsley touched his shako.
Although he had not seen the ground north of the sluice, Hervey said he would lead. He had had the most time to imprint the map on his mind, and although by simply following the river any dragoon could have found the cut, he judged that he could lead them there quicker by swinging north-west across the common.
Mr Hairsine had objections, however. ‘Proper drill, sir, with respect! Best have scouts out.’
Hervey hesitated: the RSM was right, but every second counted.
‘I’ll scout with Lightowler, sir,’ said Hairsine by way of deciding it.
‘Very well, Sarn’t-major. Head north-west for half a mile; if you run onto the canal then just follow it right.’
‘Sir.’ The RSM saluted, and nodded to his groom. ‘Come on, Lightowler.’
They set off at a measured trot. It was moonlight to see well enough, and the treeless, marshy common ahead could hold few surprises. Hervey let them get a good fifty yards before signalling the rest of the troop to follow.
It took but five minutes to close to the cut, with not a sign of life other than protesting waterfowl. Hervey
