Lieutenant-Colonel Shaw was a hard-looking man, in his forties, Hervey reckoned. There was a pronounced powder-burn on his right cheek, and his upper front teeth were missing. Yet there was nothing of the bruiser in his manner, which was more schoolmasterly than soldier. Hervey had already begun to note how different officers in other regiments could seem. It was not just that they were unfamiliar, they were formed in another way. Some, he knew, would have been formed in half a dozen regiments, but he thought he was beginning to discern a certain stamp; and not merely between Foot and Horse, Guards and Line. Colonel Shaw could not have been in the Sixth; that, he was sure. It was not appearance alone, although he did wear uniform of sorts, which Hervey imagined was on account of his working within the allied lines of communication. No, it was not the ‘uniform’: there was something about him that did not suggest an acquaintance with dragoons.
In fact, it was not possible to determine Colonel Shaw’s regiment even by close inspection of his dress, for he did not wear any distinguishing sign. His coat was a curious affair, dark blue, the buttons half-ball horn, its cut nodding to the military but which might otherwise be that of any man of quality. He wore buff breeches, and butcher-boots, not hessians. Only his headdress was decidedly military, a plumeless bicorn with black cockade. Even his horse furniture was of civilian pattern, so that if he were to remove his hat he could pass for a private gentleman – which was, Hervey concluded, the intention. But hat in place, there was just sufficient mark of the man of rank to draw a salute and, more importantly, laissez-aller from Sir Arthur Wellesley’s men. But Colonel Shaw wanted now to pass through Portuguese lines, and for that, someone had judged it prudent to have an unequivocally military escort.
‘Mr Hervey, my compliments to your captain: an exemplary smart body of men!’
‘Thank you, sir,’ replied Hervey, nodding to Armstrong and the others to take note. Compared with muster at the depot they looked in rag shape, but for field conditions he fancied they were indeed a cut above the usual standard.
‘What are your orders?’
‘I am at your disposal, sir.’
‘That is understood. Very well, I wish to take a look at the Douro.’ Colonel Shaw paused, fixing Hervey, hawklike, as if to gauge his reaction. ‘A close look.’
Hervey nodded. ‘Very well, Colonel.’
‘As close as may be.’
‘I understand, sir.’
‘I am in your hands, Hervey, but from my map it appears there might be an opportunity to approach the river from Villa Nova . . . here.’ He indicated the point on his map.
Hervey saw, then glanced at his own. ‘There’s a picket half a mile short of there, sir – Portuguese, I mean – on the high road, but I have been no further forward. We might have a guide from them.’
‘Capital, Mr Hervey,’ said Colonel Shaw briskly, folding his map and taking off his reading-glasses. ‘Let us hasten thither.’
It took them but a half-hour to reach the outskirts of Villa Nova. Even as they trotted, Colonel Shaw made notes, constantly searching the country, slowing occasionally to study something or other through a compact telescope. As they eased to the walk a hundred yards short of the picket, Hervey could only marvel at how composed Shaw looked for a man intending to slip behind the French lines at the first opportunity.
‘Upon my word, Mr Hervey!’ The observing officer pulled up suddenly and began peering through his telescope again at the middle distance.
Hervey reined sharply to the halt, wondering what had alerted him.
‘You see that bird yonder,’ said the colonel, with a distinct edge to his voice. ‘What do you say it is?’
Hervey, not a little taken aback, lifted his spyglass, wondering what the bird portended. ‘A hen-harrier perhaps, Colonel?’ he tried, after a not entirely perfunctory study.
‘An understandable conclusion, Hervey,’ said Shaw, keeping the glass to his eye. ‘The colour is much the same; but observe its tail closer. How is it in shape?’
Hervey frowned, though his Tarleton concealed it if his voice did not. ‘Colonel, I think we ought—’
‘Yes, yes, Mr Hervey. I know we have business to be about, but you may see a river any day. You will not see a black-winged kite again once you have left these parts.’
Hervey’s frown faded. If Colonel Shaw wanted to watch birds rather than the French then that was his business. He raised his telescope again. ‘I observe that the tail is spread and slightly forked.’
‘Just so. Whereas the hen-harrier’s is . . . ?’
Hervey thought for a moment. ‘Long and straight?’
‘Exactly. But observe also what it does. A bird reveals its identity above all by its habit, Mr Hervey.’ Shaw’s telescope seemed positively fixed to his right eye. His mare stood obligingly still, as if used to episodes of intense study. ‘See how it flies, very much active, like the owl, and how it twists its tail. The harrier is altogether more measured in its movement: a few leisurely beats of the wing as it flies low – far lower than the kite – and then it glides, the tip of the wing raised. Quite unmistakable.’
Hervey saw what was Colonel Shaw’s game, and found himself rather more happily drawn in: a rara avis, evidently, the observing officer – like his black-winged kite. He imagined he might learn a lot from such a man, even if a good deal of it by riddles. ‘Yes, I see, Colonel.’
‘The observation of birds, Hervey, of all the kingdoms of the natural world, is really most apt for our purposes. Observing is a skill to be acquired, and its practice in the kingdom of birds is an exemplary thing. I commend it highly.’
Hervey nodded. ‘Yes, Colonel.’
‘Indeed, a capital scheme would be to have your dragoons observe what birds there may be in a place, and to note their appearance and habit, and to report what they observe. It will test their powers admirably.’
Hervey was intrigued, but not sure such a scheme would find favour, least of all with dragoons, though he recognized the method’s merit well enough. ‘I shall commend it to my captain, sir.’
At length, Colonel Shaw lowered his telescope. ‘Well, well, welclass="underline" a black-winged kite, the first I ever saw. I shall take it as a propitious omen. Well, well!’
Hervey gathered up his reins. ‘Walk on, Colonel?’
‘Yes, Mr Hervey. We may now go about the King’s business once more, but with a blither spirit for certain!’ Colonel Shaw smiled contentedly, the gap in his teeth most pronounced.
Hervey smiled to himself. Was it in the nature of observing officers to appear . . . abstracted, or was it the nature of the work that made Colonel Shaw appear so? Whatever it may be, and despite the colonel’s manifest seniority and experience, he resolved to have a special care if they did close with the French – even if only the width of the Douro.