Company Of Spears

It was half an hour before Sam Kirwan came to the orderly room, by which time Hervey had written another letter, to Peto postponing his calling on him. There were vexing things about tonight’s commission – not least the probability that it would turn out to be another false alarm. Paying informers was a sure way of gaining intelligence, but it was also a sure way of gaining false information; and, from what he heard, the ratio of true to false was highly unfavourable. Nevertheless, if there were a plot to obtain gunpowder it could surely mean no other than an outrage was intended?

‘I’m sorry, Hervey, I slept long. I didn’t leave the sick lines until the early hours. There are another two.’

Hervey looked alarmed. ‘Mr Hairsine said the sarn’t-majors had reported all was well.’

‘Two from the same troop, but they’d come in from the pay escort, late, which is why the serjeant-major wouldn’t have known, likely as not.’

‘Don’t stand excuses, Sam: they should be able to account for every man and horse.’ He stood up. ‘The symptoms are the same, I suppose?’

‘Not exactly, but the condition is the same, which is what is disposing me to think they have the virus from the others. I’ll know better this evening.’

‘I’ve decided we shall have to destroy them, Sam. There’s no safe way otherwise.’

Sam Kirwan drew in his breath and inclined his head. ‘I really don’t counsel that, sir. Unless I’m able to observe the illness run its course there’ll be no knowing for certain what it is. I’m by no means persuaded it’s glanders, nor farcy.’

Hervey was ever open to persuasion in veterinary matters, and had Sam Kirwan been David Sledge then he would have taken the advice without question, but it seemed to him risky beyond reason. ‘It will profit us nothing to know the cause if we lose a troop’s worth of horses.’

‘I am of the opinion that the virus will be already abroad in the troop. As long as any sick horse’s confined to the infirmary then I’m sure there can be no serious chance of the contagion’s spreading. If I can observe what is its true nature then I might treat any others that fall sick.’

The veterinarian’s proposition was logical. The alternative, as he said, was to shoot every animal when it showed the first sign of sickness, no matter what; and if it were a virulent but curable malady then the cost could be great – as well as needless. It all depended on how strict might be the quarantine. But in any case, if the virus was abroad in one troop, could it be contained there as well as in the hospital lines? Hervey shook his head, though not in dissent as much as dismay at the unhappy alternatives before him.

‘Very well. But we had better make a quarantine of A Troop’s lines as well.’ He looked his veterinary officer straight in the eye. ‘I have to turn this over to you, Sam. I have other business, and I tell you frankly, I cannot afford to misjudge it.’

VIII

GUNPOWDER, TREASON AND PLOT

Later

At one o’clock, Third Squadron paraded under the command of Captain Christopher Worsley, F Troop leader. Hervey watched from the edge of the square with the RSM, Major Dalrymple and Nasmyth, the Home Secretary’s man. Behind stood the commanding officer’s trumpeter, Corporal Parry, the best of the trumpet-major’s men, with next to him Private Johnson and the ‘redbreast’, a lantern-jawed man in the black top-hat, tail-coat and breeches, and bright red waistcoat, of the Bow Street Horse Patrol. Johnson was intent on keeping his distance, although the patrolman, formerly serjeant in the 15th Hussars, was disposed to be friendly.

Hervey decided not to address the parade. Although as aid to the civil powers went this commission was a shade unusual, the men were practised enough. He knew that the troop leaders had spoken to them on the necessity of at first trying the flat of the sword (‘Peterloo’ was ever in the forefront of an officer’s mind when sent to do the magistrates’ bidding), and the dragoons looked eager and capable. He saw no occasion for eloquence therefore. But the parade was his, and he rode forward to take the command.

‘Third Squadron – five officers and eighty-eight other ranks – present in marching order, sir!’