Allan Mallinson: A Close Run Thing

‘Now, gentlemen, sit down, if you please,’ continued General Calvert. ‘There is little time. Mr Hervey, you will recall bringing Lord Wellington’s dispatch two weeks ago. It did not require an acknowledgement but it is the procedure for the clerk receiving dispatches to peruse them at once and to interrogate the bearer if there be any matter for clarification. Mellor did not do so; indeed, it appears that he dealt with it with quite extraordinary laxness. I had begun to suspect as much. He has for some time been quite incapable of remembering his position. I fear his taking a lease on a house in Blackheath has given him certain gentlemanly propensities!’

Hervey smiled respectfully at the general’s attempt at some levity, while suppressing a growing indignation at the inference that his presence at the Horse Guards was merely an instrument for the demise of the offending civilian.

‘Only when the Duke of Wellington himself attended here on Monday was the import of the dispatch revealed, for in it he recounts — in some detail — your remarkable exploits at the late battle we are to know as Waterloo. The duke wished that your signal role be recognized but considered that to mark it by public honours would detract from the honour due to the Prussians. You will understand the sensibilities in these matters, Mr Hervey.’

Hervey bowed in acknowledgement, his pulse beginning to race.

‘He did consider recommending a companionship of the Bath, along with all other commanding officers — since you had commanded your corps in the closing moments of the battle. But so many other junior officers had been required to do the same that he thought this impractical. He has therefore asked, and their lordships of the Treasury have agreed, that you be awarded ex gratia the amount of five thousand pounds.’

Hervey’s face spoke of his utter shock. His pulse beat faster than he could ever remember, and he was thankful to be seated. He made to speak, but General Calvert lifted up a hand.

‘This is, however, conditional on your absolute discretion in the matter. Not a word of the provenance of this sum is ever to escape.’ Calvert’s eyes searched Hervey’s.

‘You have my absolute assurance, sir,’ he replied.

‘But now to more urgent matters,’ continued the general. ‘You may know of Lord Fitzroy Somerset’s incapacitation. The duke found him an indispensable aide-de-camp and secretary. Moreover, he spoke French with perfect fluency.’

With fluency, yes, thought Hervey, but with an abominable English accent! But what was this to do with—?

‘You speak French with equal fluency, and German, too, it seems?’ suggested Calvert.

‘Yes, sir,’ he replied cautiously. Surely he could not be suggesting—

‘Well, it is the duke’s wish that you be appointed to his staff forthwith as under-secretary and aide-de-camp. If you are in agreement, you will be given a brevet captaincy — given, mind — which in due season will be confirmed as regimental rank. How say you, Mr Hervey?’

Hervey sprang up like a flushed partridge.

‘I … I am astonished, sir! I … I accept, of course!’

‘Well, then, Captain Hervey, there remains but one difficulty. The duke has this day left for Paris, and there are pressing matters for him to be about with both our allies and the French king. Really, my boy, you are required there at once.’ And, turning to his colonel, he asked if a frigate were still stood by.

‘Yes, Sir Harry; she could leave Chatham on this evening’s tide — about eight, I think.’

‘Then,’ said General Calvert, turning to Hervey, ‘you had better lose no time in making arrangements. Mr Howard will lend you every assistance, I am sure. Now, you must excuse me since I have to attend on the Duke of York. Goodbye and good fortune, Captain Hervey. The Service is indeed favoured to have officers of your faculty. Do not suppose that this peace is an end to the requirement for such aptitude.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ replied Hervey simply, before replacing his shako, saluting and turning for the door.

Howard seized his arm the moment it was closed behind them. ‘My dear fellow, no-one could feel happier with this than do I. I could gladly run through that self-important ass of a clerk who began it all, but for my over-hasty presumption, too, I am truly sorry.’

Hervey smiled and touched his arm. ‘No matter, no matter.’

‘See, then,’ Howard pressed, ‘we have but a few hours to catch that frigate by tonight’s tide. I shall arrange a coach for Chatham. You will need meanwhile to see your tailor and agent, and look for other necessaries until your camp-kit is brought to Paris — though I hardly think you will see hard beds there any longer!’

‘Yes, yes … thank you, Howard; it is all so … But see here, what I must do is write to Horningsham. Is there somewhere I may do so?’

‘Of course: we shall go to the staff office here. But look, write only a brief account, and I myself shall take it for you. The rest I shall say on your behalf. I could do no other in the circumstances.’

‘My dear Howard …,’ began Hervey, pleasantly taken by this warm act of contrition.

‘No, I will hear no objection,’ he insisted. ‘It is the very least thing that I may do for a fellow officer. And, indeed, I mean to make some amends with your sister’ — he faltered a fraction — ‘I mean your family — with whom I seem to have made a disastrous beginning.’

But Hervey did not fully grasp this other aspect to his altruism, for his thoughts were with Henrietta once more. ‘With the approval of her guardian, we might be married in Paris this next month,’ he mused aloud.

‘The approval of Lord Wellington might be the greater impediment,’ suggested Howard with a smile.

‘“And the child Samuel ministered unto the Lord”!’ replied Hervey, smiling, too.

‘What?’

‘First Samuel, chapter 3, verse 1.’

* * *

His Majesty’s Naval Dockyard Chatham, at seven that evening, was still bustling. Hervey’s chaise and pair stopped at the huge gates, the driver took directions from the Royal Marine sentry and then trotted the team a further quarter-mile to the quay where the frigate was moored. Hervey had expected her to be riding at anchor in the roads, and he was pleased that he would not, after all, have to board her precariously from a jolly-boat. As he stepped down from the coach his eye was caught by the decoration of the gallery window high above the quay on the still-rising tide. A figure stared out at him and then disappeared. The gundeck’s yellow side smelled of new paint, and the sail, even to his untutored eye, was furled to perfection. Efficiency itself, he sighed. The Marine sentry at the foot of the gangway which led to the upper deck presented arms, but Hervey hesitated: the conventions of boarding one of His Majesty’s ships were ever a trap to an unwary landsman. And (he would truthfully admit) of men-o’-war and captains of frigates he was ever in thrall.

But the brevet captain swallowed hard. Fastening on his sword-belt and taking up the scabbard in his left hand, he touched his shako peak to the Marine and strode resolutely up the steep gangway. As he stepped aboard and turned to salute aft (the one custom of which he was certain) the same figure of the gallery window appeared on deck, immaculate in frock uniform. His face was a year or so older than Hervey’s (but not more), and it remained motionless while returning the salute. Then it broke into a quizzical smile. ‘Captain Hervey, we presume? We are glad you have at last arrived. I am Captain Laughton Peto.’

Even in the short time it had taken to exchange these compliments three seamen were down the gangway and bringing up Hervey’s chests. He struggled to find some apt reply in deference to this courtesy. ‘I am afraid my journey here has been in much haste, sir. I confess I do not even know your ship’s name.’