Man Of War

Hervey shook his head, despairing of his ill temper. ‘So you would, Mr Blanche; so you would. You did right.’

‘Orders, sir?’ asked Collins, declining Johnson’s offer of a blanket with a shrug of the shoulders.

‘We carry on. Who was next to go?’

‘I was, sir,’ came Corporal White’s voice.

‘Very well . . . no. Mr Blanche, you will go next, if you please, since you have your uniform waterproof already.’ The ironic tone of his voice was marked.

‘Thank you, sir. It can absorb no more, that is for sure.’

Spirits were restored.

‘You’re sure the colonel’s well, Corporal Steele?’ Not that there was anything they could do if the answer were in the negative.

‘Ay, sir, he is.’

‘Very well. Have we the tow rope back?’

‘Sir,’ came another voice.

‘Carry on, then, Sar’nt-Major.’

Collins made a new loop in the tow and put it over Cornet Blanche’s charger’s neck. ‘Now, remember, sir, keep his nose at yon bank and be ready for the current to swing ’im round, about thirty yards in.’

‘I will, thank you, Serjeant-Major.’

Blanche sounded steady enough, thought Hervey. But if he botched it, then he did not fancy the chances of getting anyone across (he himself would almost certainly have to take command of the regiment, for he did not believe that Lord Holderness would be fit to do so before the morning at least, whatever Corporal Steele’s assurances).

Blanche saluted sharply and urged his mare to the edge of the bank. Like the colonel’s charger before her, she too took a quick, curious look at the moon on the water, and then slid willingly into the river. Blanche slipped his feet from the stirrups, swung his legs up on to the mare’s quarters, and as the current took hold, and the tow rope tautened, they swung to the exact same position midstream, the mare swimming well. Blanche pulled hard on the right rein as soon as he felt her quarters swinging, and gradually they began making headway. It took no more than five minutes, although it seemed longer to Hervey, and then the mare was making her first footing in the shallows on the far side. She struggled out, blowing hard as if she had just run a fast mile, and Blanche jumped down.

Fairbrother was waiting. ‘Welcome to the playing fields of Eton.’

‘Welcome back, you might say, sir.’

‘I should have known,’ replied Fairbrother, raising his eyebrows.

‘And that was as hard a game as ever I had here, I may tell you.’ Blanche handed Fairbrother the water-deck bundle in which his clothes had been wrapped. ‘Here’s a parcel from home, as it were.’

‘Good man! I confess the chill in the air is something more than I supposed.’

‘A bit hotter, I imagine, where you come from, sir,’ replied Blanche, affably, slipping the loop from his mare’s neck.

The two following horses crossed with the same facility, albeit with as great an effort. But the third was disinclined even to enter the water. Hervey was of a mind to tell Collins to stand the dragoon down, but he decided instead to try a lead, springing into the saddle and taking hold of the reluctant trooper’s reins. He pressed his spurs into his own gelding’s flanks – this was no time for half measures – and pulled hard at the other’s bit. ‘Give him the flat of the sword if he refuses, Kelly!’

‘Sir!’

But Private Kelly did not need to draw his sabre; his horse took the lead, and Hervey was able to let go while they were still treading the bottom. ‘For’ard then, Kelly; keep his nose at the far bank. You’ll be fine.’

‘For sure, sir!’ Private Kelly was an old hand; he had no wish to be disgraced in front of the others.

The moon disappeared behind the clouds as they surged forward, the gelding picking its feet up high, exaggerated like a hackney, and then the first uneasy moments of flotation, unbalanced, even floundering, until the confident action as the animal settled to a proper rhythm. Kelly loosed his feet from the stirrups and lay full length along the trooper’s back, gasping at the sudden cold douche, letting the water lift him clear of the saddle, for all his sodden weight.

Hervey could no longer see them.

The current, deflected at the bend, took them exactly as the three before, but Kelly was not as ready as they for the undertow. The gelding’s quarters began to swing downstream, and his rider was too slow with the correcting rein – were the horse anyway well mannered enough to respond, out of his element.

The tow-rope loop slid forward to the gelding’s throat, levering his head up even more, so that he started struggling against it. Nothing that Kelly could do would get the horse to answer to the rein. He had but seconds, he reckoned. His trooper would drown, if it did not first choke. Though he knew he would be cutting himself free of his line, he reached for his sabre, groping for the hilt in its uncustomary position. He got the blade out, with difficulty, and then hauled himself by the brow-band to get within reach of the rope. Then he swung his sword arm.