Company Of Spears

The adjutant moved to the front to give the executive commands, while the smoke rolled the length of the line, quite obscuring the front rank’s line of sight. Hervey wondered if here, too, science might not serve them better. Was it contrary to the nature of the elements to require powder to burn without excessive smoke? Was there such a thing as fire without smoke? Smoke stood in the way of observation on the battlefield; he had only to recall the day at Waterloo, when it had been the very devil of a job to see what the French did. More than once had the duke’s infantry fired on his own cavalry. But it was more than mere obscuration: every time a dragoon discharged his carbine he gave away his position. In line it mattered not at all, but on outpost duty it might make the difference between staying put or having to withdraw. Except that the weapon in these men’s hands possessed neither the range nor the accuracy to exploit the advantage of smokeless powder. Hervey shook his head. Here they were on Hounslow Heath going through the exact same evolutions of that day a dozen years ago, which was supposed to have been an end to the Grande Armee and the system that had need of it. There was no denying that there were armies still on the Continent, but he had seen enough in India these past six years to know there were other ways of war. If he, a mere acting-major of light dragoons, could see it, then there were sure to be those in the armies of France, and Russia and Austria – even Prussia – who could see it too. What if those armies were to embrace science (England had no monopoly in this field, even if she had the lead) and put to nought the superiority in drill and courage of His Majesty’s men? He was sure the Royal Navy would be thinking ‘scientifically’, for in the navy there was no disdain of innovation. Quite the opposite, indeed: he could not easily forget the steamship in the Rangoon river in the late war with Ava.

But now they would end the field day with an advance in line, sabres drawn, exactly as they had done at the close of Waterloo. At that glorious moment, too, Hervey had been at the head of the Sixth, the senior officer remaining in the saddle, though still but a cornet. Well, he had them again now, and on the same terms (for as long as it took to replace him); he had better let them have their gallop after all! And he had better do it exactly as the drill book prescribed.

He turned to his trumpeter, whose mare stood composed at last. ‘Draw swords!’

Corporal Parry, commanding officer’s trumpeter since the Sixth had come back from India, put the bugle to his lips and attacked the arpeggiando quavers and semi-quavers as if the enemy were before them. It was not the hardest of calls, but neither was it one to falter over at the end of a field day.

Out came four hundred sabres, more or less as one.

‘Forward!’

The simplest of the calls – just an E and a C, two semis and a quaver, repeated the once.

The line heaved forward, and the cursing began at once. Hervey fancied he recognized the NCOs’ voices – ‘Sit up, there!’ ‘Get back!’ ‘Close up, you idle man!’

‘Trot!’

Short, bumping quavers on C, E and G.

Every horse recognized the call, but on different notes. The line billowed like sheets in the wind. ‘Hold hard, damn you!’ ‘Get up, there! Get up!’ ‘Steady!’

Hervey glanced back. The sight was not propitious. But it was too late now. ‘Gallop!’

Corporal Parry blew creditably – the same notes, but in different time.

Hervey glanced over his shoulder again. The line was about as straight as a gaggle of driven geese. He might as well prove to them just how much drill they still had need of: ‘Charge!’

Corporal Parry managed the triplets admirably until the third repetition when he was bumped hard by a dragoon behind, and nearly lost a tooth.

Hervey heard him curse the man as foully as ever he’d heard from Armstrong. He glanced behind once more, saw the line of lofted sabres, and put his spurs into Gilbert’s flanks for more speed: he was damned if he was going to be overtaken by what looked like a band of irregulars. Great God, what work there was to be done yet!

II

THE GRIM REAPER

Later

When they were come back to Hounslow barracks, Hervey handed over the parade to the senior captain and rode to the commanding officer’s stables at the back of the officers’ house. Here were four loose boxes, altogether quieter and more comfortable than the standing stalls of the troop-horse lines. Private Johnson was waiting.